


One Willing To Be So Brave

by AmandaKitswell



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Consensual Sex, Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fantasy, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-02
Updated: 2014-05-02
Packaged: 2018-01-21 15:31:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1555319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmandaKitswell/pseuds/AmandaKitswell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Blight is over, and the coronation is fast approaching. As Arais fulfills a promise she made to a family whom the Maker had graciously brought into her life, she finds herself faced with so much change, and many of those changes she must make herself. My entry for the Dragon Age Big Bang on tumblr and Live Journal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**12 Harvestmere, 9:31 Dragon**

The death of summer was an overwhelming presence, after so many days traveling through Blight ravaged lands. Bright sunlight brought the colors of the leaves to life: vivid reds, oranges, and yellows glimmered in the light autumn breeze. Browned leaves, dried by the sun, crunched beneath Arais' feet, and those of the horses the templars rode before her. Softer footsteps beside her halted for a moment, and so did she, turning her gaze to the young boy beside her.

"Do you think the leaves will ever look this way again in Redcliffe?" Connor's eyes met hers. A glimmer of pain shone in beneath feigned strength—he already missed his home; that much was obvious.

"It may take some time," she laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder, "but Ferelden will recover from the Blight. Redcliffe wasn't tainted as long as some of the surrounding areas of the Bannorn, so its recovery will be even faster." In fact, most of the damage done to Redcliffe had been caused by the undead the demon had sent to terrorize Redcliffe, though she hardly thought it was appropriate to make that distinction to Connor.

He nodded his head, but made no other response. Instead, his eyes returned to the leaves, to the decay of the world around him. She wondered if he understood the extent of the damage done to Ferelden during the Blight, and just how lucky Redcliffe had been to only be targeted at the tail end. Since the darkspawn had made Denerim their primary target by then, only a token force had been sent to Redcliffe. The soldiers that remained in the southern arling easily overpowered them.

Part of her was certain that Connor couldn't possibly understand. Then again, he was twelve years old, and the circumstances under which they had met forced him to grow up much faster. Perhaps he had asked Isolde about the Blight while Eamon and Teagan marched to Denerim with Arais, but how much did even Isolde know? And the woman was so protective of her only child, she would likely have avoided giving him any details that might have frightened him.

No, it was unlikely Connor knew anything of the Blight outside of the fact that it happened. If he were anything like Arais, he was more concerned about what would happen to him now that his magic was a matter of public knowledge, and if the Circle of Magi was truly as bad as everyone made it out to be.

The silence, broken only by the crackling of the leaves, continued until they crested a hill and the towering spire of Kinloch Hold came into view, its reflection wavering in the dark waters of Lake Calenhad. Connor gaped up at the tower with all the wonder one would expect from a child. But, for all the amazement, there was still apprehension, maybe even fear, for what that tower might mean for him.

"What's the Circle like?" Connor looked up at her, and showed no sign that he had noticed her watching him.

She furrowed her brows and focused ahead of her, unsure how to answer. She couldn't tell him the whole truth and risk scaring him, nor could she lie and be able to live with herself when he found out otherwise. Kinloch Hold had been nothing short of terrifying at times, but the templars weren't overbearing. Nothing like the men and women who she had seen walking the streets of Kirkwall before she had been brought to Ferelden, or the majority of the templars who had actually brought her to Kinloch Hold.

Realizing she had been silent for too long, she said, "I lived there for almost seventeen years before I was recruited into the Grey Wardens. I was given a bed in the apprentice quarters on the first floor of the tower, where you will be staying once you settle in. The senior mages will be your teachers, and will aide you in your training."

"Like Jowan did?" His voice was taut, and when she looked at him, his body was just as tense. No doubt, he didn't trust these mages to be better teachers than the one he already had.

"Jowan hadn't completed his own training when you met him; he was barely of age, and escaped the Circle before he could. He wasn't prepared to teach anyone else how to master their powers, because he had yet to master his own."

His shoulders relaxed, and he nodded. "I understand." His eyes met hers briefly, and then he looked away, frowning. "Did you have any friends?"

"I—" She was taken aback by the question, but, in all honesty, it didn't really surprise her that friendship would be a concern for a boy his age. "Yes, I did." She pursed her lips, and decided against mentioning Jowan again. And, as far as she knew, Anders had disappeared during the coup, so there was no point in mentioning him, either. She swallowed back a sigh. "Not very many, but I kept to myself, a lot of the time. My best friend was my mentor, Wynne. You met her during the Blight." He nodded. "There are many children at Kinloch Hold who are your age. You shouldn't have any trouble meeting new friends."

"What if they . . . find out what I did?" His frown deepened. "To help Father? Won't they be afraid?"

She remembered the destruction of her own former home at the hands of blood mages, and the room full of children that Wynne had cut off from the rest of the tower. They had seen horrors that no child should have to see, but Connor had experienced them first hand.

"I don't think they will be, if they find out. You might even be able to help them."

"Help them? How?"

"The Circle only teaches mages that demons are dangerous, and that all mages who are possessed become horrible abominations that cannot be helped. You are living proof that is not the case. You survived, and now, if they ask, you can tell them what it's like. You can help them understand."

Again, he was silent.

A whinny from one of the horses brought her attention back to the templars, who had stopped just shy of the docks. Kester, standing where she had once encountered Carroll, had his back to them, but turned rather abruptly when the templars' heavy plate armor clanged as they climbed down from their mounts. He seemed unnerved, at first, but when he saw Arais—her hand on Connor's shoulder—his face broke into a relieved smile.

"Ah, Warden! Pleasure to see you back here."

"Hello, Kester." Arais smiled pleasantly.

Connor backed up a step, and Arais squeezed his shoulder to set him at ease.

Kester glanced down at the boy beside her, his eyes softening. "What's your name?"

Connor blinked, then squared his shoulders. "Connor Guerrin."

"The Arl of Redcliffe's boy?" Kester's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, the shock evident in his tone. When Connor nodded, Kester bowed. "An honor to meet you, milord."

"You don't need to call me that, ser. I'm not a noble anymore." Connor looked up at Arais, unsure. "Am I?"

She frowned. "Not technically, no. But you're still of noble birth, regardless."

"And, if it's all right with you, I would still show you the respect you deserve." Kester winked at Arais, and she realized he was fully aware of the implications that came with a person of noble blood being a mage. He was treating Connor no differently than he would any other nobleman's son, and she was grateful to him for that.

The older man clapped his hands together, looking away from Connor and Arais to the armor-clad men behind them. "I take it you all need a ride across the lake to the tower?"

Ever the silent guardians, the templars merely nodded, and once again Kester seemed to tense up, his jaw clenching visibly. Clearly his reinstatement as ferryman had not gone over well in some way. Perhaps his transition back into his duties hadn't been smooth? Arais wasn't going to ask about it in front of the templars, though. As it stood, Kester was back in charge of the docks, and maybe only time was needed to get everything back to the way it was before the coup and the Blight.

"There isn't enough room for the both of you on the boat, what with your armor," Kester said, his voice terse as he spoke to the armored men. "One of you has to stay here."

Though his tone suggested he would brook no argument from them, one of the templars replied, "You don't have the authority to make that decision, ferryman."

"That's all well and good, but I won't have you sinking my boat. I'll only ferry one of you across. Take it or leave it."

The templar who spoke went to step forward, but his brother-in-arms held him back. "Fine, but you'll be hearing about this from the Knight-Commander."

Kester shrugged. "So be it."

The templars spoke among themselves for a time, presumably deciding who would go to the tower. The calmer of the two walked toward the boat; the hostile templar gave an impatient wave of his hand to indicate Arais and Connor should follow. Kester stepped aboard first, reaching out his hand to help Connor, then Arais onto the boat. He left the templar to fend for himself.

The small rowboat dipped dangerously when the armored man came aboard, but found its balance again once he sat. Connor moved closer to Arais and gripped her arm, his small fingertips digging into her flesh. She patted his hand, trying to reassure him as best she could without speaking, because she understood his fear.

She remembered more vividly now what she had once tried to explain to Teagan: how terrifying it was to be torn from her family and forced to travel with complete strangers. It had been so important to her to have one person treat her like a human being, with respect and dignity. Someone to actually care about her well being as she traveled to Maker only knew where, with only the clothes on her back. Thrask had given that to her, and now she hoped she had done the same for Connor.

Connor rested his head on her arm as the tower began to loom ever higher above their heads, his eyes focused steadfastly forward. Soon—too soon, perhaps—Kester was tying the boat to the dock. She stood when Kester gave the okay to do so, helping Connor out of the boat and again watching the templar struggle to do the same on his own. The armored man lost his balance and fell to his knees on the hard stone floor of the cavern. She heard Connor choke back a laugh, and Arais was forced to do the same. Kester merely smiled.

When the templar got to his feet, he turned to Connor and Arais with a deep scowl, and the smile fell from her face. She found Connor's hand again and squeezed gently, and held fast as they moved toward the tunnel that led to the entrance. Kester nodded his goodbye as she passed him, and bowed to Connor.

The tunnel was narrow, claustrophobic, lit only by widely spaced torches that lined the uneven walls. As they approached the door, the templar who stood guard pulled it open and stepped aside, allowing them to go inside. The entrance hall was quiet, empty but for the two guards who stood vigilant at either side of the door.

"I have to report our arrival to the Knight-Commander," their templar companion stated. "Stay here until I return." Without waiting for a response, he left, and the silence of Kinloch Hold began to close in on Arais immediately, as familiar as it was suffocating.

Connor's hand left hers, and she focused on him, watched as he walked over to the chess board set up on the other side of the room, likely for the templars who were on guard during the night watch, to pass the time. He touched nothing, only staring at the board, which seemed to have been left in the middle of a game. After a moment, he turned and looked around the room, his eyes—wide and nervous—never lingering on any one thing for more than a few seconds.

The scrape and clang of armor caught Connor's attention, and he hurried back over to Arais and took her hand once more as Knight Commander Greagoir came into view. He was followed closely by Cullen, who, even months after the coup, looked haggard and worn. His eyes were sunken, dark circles casting his eyes in eerie shadows, and his cheeks were gaunt and sallow. When he saw her, his amber eyes flared with recognition and . . . something else. Anger?

Her stomach churned uneasily.

"Warden," Greagoir said by way of greeting, his tone brusque. Arais returned her attention to him. "I take it this is the boy?"

"Yes, this is Connor."

He gave a tight nod. "I thank you for aiding in his transport. We'll take it from here."

Connor's grip tightened in hers. "Wait, you're not coming with me?" he asked, frightened.

"I'm sorry, I can't," she said, and her heart tightened in her chest when she saw the worry in his eyes; she hoped it wasn't reflected in her own. "It will be all right. They just need to do some preparations that I can't be there for." She couldn't remember how long the phylactery ritual took, only that her hand ached afterward. "There's nothing to be afraid of, I promise. They'll take good care of you." She looked up at the Knight Commander and Cullen, a challenge in her silver-gray eyes. "Right?"

"Of course." Greagoir motioned to the templar at his side, who approached Connor and Arais without hesitation.

"Will you be here when they're done?" Connor asked, ignoring Cullen's silent gesture to come along.

"Absolutely. I'll come to the apprentice quarters once I've handled some business of my own." She knelt and gave him a brief hug. "You'll be okay. Just do as the Knight Commander says."

He nodded, and hugged her again. "Thank you, Arais."

"You're welcome, Connor." She debated for a moment, then added, "They're going to need to take some blood." Her eyes briefly met Cullen's, and she saw his anger, plain as day. Well, there was nothing he could do to stop her from warning Connor, so she pressed on. "Just a small prick of a dagger and a few drops into a vial, and you're all set. It's nothing to be worried about." She gave him a small smile, and though he seemed apprehensive about the blood, he returned it. "Now go. I'll see you again before you know it."

She stood and watched as he followed the Knight Commander out of the entrance hall, Cullen's hand heavy on his shoulder. He held his head up and kept his shoulders squared, but she knew how scared he was. When she was brought in, she didn't know, couldn't know what they had in store for her. Arais hoped that warning him about the blood they needed to take would help ease the stress of orientation for him, at least a little, but she barely remembered her own. Only the point of the dagger pressing into her palm, and the pressure of the previous Knight Commander's fingers as he squeezed the blood out and into a small vial, sealing her fate as a prisoner of the Chantry.

She shook her head to clear it from the unpleasant line of thought she had followed, and she walked through the doorway she had just watched Connor disappear through. Silence gave way to voices, growing louder as she passed the open doorways that led to the various apprentice dormitories. As she entered the library, the sound of voices, belonging to children and adults alike, was joined by the sounds of spells being cast and meeting the barriers erected by instructors.

The atrium was clear of the blood that had caked the floors and spattered the walls on Arais' last visit here, and the bookshelves stood tall and towering once again, but the unpleasant tingle in the air that was left behind in the wake of so much blood magic still lingered. Her body trembled slightly, and as she approached the steps to the mage quarters, she became light-headed. Was it like this for the mages who still lived here, or had they become accustomed to the sensation?

Arais took a deep breath, waiting for the dizziness to pass before she ascended the steps. When she pushed through the door that led to the second floor, the number of voices decreased dramatically. It was hard to face, the loss of so many talented mages to a war they shouldn't have had to fight so soon after surviving another. The empty, unmade beds she saw as she passed the dormitories were a harsh reminder of the toll the Blight had taken on more than just the soldiers who had been bred for war.

She passed the last dormitory and knocked on the door to the senior mage quarters. There was quiet shuffling, followed by a soft thud, then footsteps before the door swung open, revealing a rather disheveled Wynne. Tendrils of hair hung loose from her normally pristine bun, and the lines on her face were deeper, more pronounced. She seemed… tired, but her eyes lit up when she recognized her visitor.

"Arais!" Wynne pulled her into an embrace. "How wonderful to see you again." She stepped back and gestured toward one of the beds. "Please, come in and have a seat." After closing the door behind her, she asked, "What are you doing here?

Arais settled herself down "I'm helping Connor Guerrin get settled in."

"Ah, yes, I remember hearing he was coming today." Wynne sat on the unmade bed across from Arais. It seemed the only bed in the room that was made was the one on which Arais sat. "Though I hadn't heard anything about you accompanying him."

"I offered, as a favor to Arlessa Isolde. After the debacle with Jowan, I don't think anything would have put her at ease, short of coming here with him herself." Arais sighed. "Since that's not an option, I offered to escort him. To be honest, I was planning on doing it, regardless. After what he went through, I couldn't be sure the templars would have been . . . kind if I hadn't been there."

"I don't doubt they would have been more cautious with a mage who had already been possessed." Wynne frowned in agreement. "How were they in your presence?"

Arais didn't even need to think to answer. "Quiet."

"No doubt they expected to simply cart the boy off to the Circle and that would be the end of it." The elder mage smiled. "Instead, they traveled with the famed Hero of Ferelden, and were forced to be on their best behavior. In front of yet another mage, no less."

"If I hadn't been so focused on Connor, I'm sure I would have been amused by their silence. They hardly spoke a word after we left Redcliffe, except to make sure we kept up with the horses." She smiled, remembering the docks. "And to gripe with Kester when he wouldn't let both of them ride over on the boat with us."

Wynne's laughter filled the room. "Why does that not surprise me? Kester has always been at odds with the templars, even more so now that they've tried to give his position to a templar, for 'security purposes.' Or so they claim."

"Is that why Kester was so tense when we arrived?"

"I expect so. Kester put up quite the fuss when Ser Carroll told him he would be retaining his position as ferryman indefinitely. I believe the Knight Commander only relented because Kester threatened to raise a militia against the templars if his livelihood was threatened any longer. Of course, any militia he raised wouldn't stand a chance against the might of the templars, but with Kinloch Hold in the state that it's in, Greagoir had to choose his battles wisely. An old man with a rowboat was not a worthwhile fight to be had."

"Definitely not," Arais said, a smile tugging at her lips. "I am glad that he was there today. He certainly helped set Connor at ease. He's a charming man, when he chooses to be." Arais' voice trailed off, and she let out a slow, somewhat ragged breath.

"That he is." Wynne eyed her, concerned. "What's on your mind, my dear?"

"It's just . . . I got placed so far from my family when I was taken away that, before I even knew it was not possible, I didn't expect to ever see them again. Ferelden was a whole different country, a sea away from my family in Kirkwall. I can't imagine how it will be for Connor, being less than a day's boat ride away from his home, but still not allowed to see his family again. How in the Maker's name is that fair to him?"

"It is how it has always been, Arais. My son was taken away from me the moment he was born. I barely had a chance to hold him before he was shipped off to Orlais, and I only know of his whereabouts now because of my influence as a senior enchanter." Wynne frowned. "I have heard from him, a few times. He and I will never be what we could have been, had things been different, but it is enough for me to know that he is alive and well, well on his way to becoming a senior enchanter himself in the White Spire."

Arais' eyes burned with unshed tears. "Just because we possess magic doesn't mean we should be cut off from the lives we had before we even knew about it. All I know of my family is from the three letters I received from Kirkwall. One from my father telling me my sister was taken to Starkhaven," Arais's voice cracked, but she pressed on, "another, from my mother, telling me that my brother was taken to Ostwick, and that my father had left her soon after Seona was taken away." She paused, as the next words caught in her throat. "The last," she murmured, "was a . . . quite formal missive telling me my mother had taken her own life. From the grief of losing three children she would never be allowed to see again." She caught the older woman's gaze, her own vision blurred with sudden tears. "Tell me, Wynne, in what world is that fair?"

A tear slid down Arais's cheek, and then another, and another, her heart aching for the family she barely knew before she was ripped away from them. How much it still hurt, even after all this time. Yes, she was grateful for all she learned in the Circle, but she hated what it had done to her family. How the fear of what she was, of what all of the children had been, had torn her family apart.

She felt movement beside her, and then Wynne's warm arms pulled Arais into a hug. "Shh, I'm sorry, my dear. I didn't mean to upset you." She leaned away, and held Arais at arms' length as if to study her face. "Maybe, in time, things will improve for the mages, and they won't be so isolated from their families. But, at this moment, we must be grateful for the few privileges we are allowed.

"That you were able to accompany Connor here is a shining example of what we, as mages, can achieve if we strive for better. As a Warden, you are granted far more freedoms than the rest of us, so use that to your advantage."

"What more can I do?" She roughly wiped the tears from her face. "I'm not allowed to involve myself in matters not pertaining strictly to the Wardens."

"But you are also above many laws that would hold those who are not Wardens back. And you have many friends in high places, thanks to your efforts during the Blight. Queen Anora, for instance. Or even the Knight Commander."

"But what can I ask of Greagoir? That Connor be allowed to see his family? I'm not sure that would be for the best, in the long run. Yes, I'm sure the boy would enjoy those visits, but would it come at the expense of making friends? It could inspire resentment among the other mages. They would see him as a pretentious noble. How would that make things better for him?"

"Well, what of Anora? Is there nothing you can think to ask of her?"

"Not anything that would genuinely help." Arais had asked herself this question dozens of times, but still, no easy answers came. "I can't just waltz into Denerim and ask her to uproot the laws the Chantry has placed on the Circle, can I?" She sighed, trying to release the frustration she felt. "Oh, I don't know. I'm getting all worked up over something that I really can't do anything about. Today isn't the day for this fight, and it will never be simple just because I wish it to be."

"You may be right, but I do believe you will think of something." Wynne smiled, tenderly brushing a strand of hair out of Arais' eyes. "You always did manage to do the impossible during the Blight. This will be no different."

"You are painfully optimistic." Arais rested her head on the older woman's shoulder. "I think you're exactly what I needed today."

"I am glad to help any way I can."

Arais smiled, mostly to herself, happy to know that she still had her mentor to fall back on if things got difficult. Realizing how much time had passed, however, she sat up, aware that Connor was probably done with his orientation. "I should go back down to the apprentice quarters. I told Connor I would meet with him."

Wynne nodded. "I'd like to come with you, if you don't mind. I haven't seen Connor since before the march on Denerim, and I'd like to greet him personally."

"Of course."

Arais led the way out of the senior mage quarters, the door to which Wynne locked as they left. "Are you the only senior enchanter here now?"

"Oh, heavens, no. Marianni and Dorian were promoted to senior enchanter after the coup. Faylin and Joria were promoted, as well, but . . . they were lost at the battle of Denerim."

"Joria is . . . dead?"

Oh, Maker. Arais had no idea. In the aftermath of the battle, things had been so chaotic that Arais had never had a chance to make certain everyone was all right. But now, a memory of Joria's warm smile, her clear blue eyes, swam into Arais' mind, and she fought back fresh tears.

Wynne put a comforting hand on Arias' shoulder. "Yes. I'm sorry; I thought perhaps you knew." She squeezed gently, and then let her arm drop back to her side. "In any case, Jainen is sending replacements as soon as they are properly trained."

Arais pushed her grief aside. "Then why are you the only one staying in the senior mage's quarters?"

"Marianni and Dorian insisted on remaining in the mage dormitories." They descended the stairs leading into the library's atrium. "I think they wanted to remain close to their friends, for a time. I can hardly begrudge them that choice."

They passed Marianni, a stout elven woman with dark brown hair and sharp, green eyes. She was at work with a young apprentice, barely into his teens, who was having difficulty casting a base level entropy spell. She offered him words of encouragement, correcting his form and pronunciation as he made the mistakes.

As they left the library and rounded the corner into the large room where Jowan had made his infamous escape, Greagoir came out of the hall that led to the apprentice dormitories. His eyes landed on Arais, and the lines around his eyes tightened.

"Warden. The boy is settled in the dormitory with the other children. I believe he's waiting for you."

"She has a name, Greagoir," Wynne chastised. "You could use it, every once in a while. It won't kill you."

He made a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat and walked off, and Arais stifled a laugh. "Only you could get away with talking to the Knight Commander in that manner, Wynne."

"I have known Greagoir since he was an initiate. There was a time when he had a sense of humor."

"I find that hard to believe." Arais began to walk again, Wynne at her side. "I don't think I've seen Greagoir smile, much less laugh at a joke."

"What you just witnessed is as close to laughter as he gets, of late. I can hardly blame him; the coup took its toll on mage and templar alike. Laughter is hard to come by."

They passed in front of the apprentice dormitories, and the solemn faces of the children and teenagers within showed exactly what Wynne meant. There was none of the laughter and merriment that children usually found together. Instead, it had been replaced by silence and muffled whispering as they talked among themselves. There were fewer empty beds than in the mage dormitories, but the fact that there were any at all was enough to make Arais physically ill. Connor was remarkably lucky to have survived his ordeal, when children who were trained within the Circle had not been so fortunate.

Connor sat on one of the beds furthest from the door, isolated from the other children, though how conscious a decision that isolation had been, she couldn't know. When she passed through the door, the children who had been speaking went silent, their gazes focused on the two harrowed mages. One girl whispered to a boy not much older than she, and his eyes went wide. It was entirely possible many of these children were new to Kinloch Hold and had no idea who she was or what she had done, and that for some, her deeds were simply a story that had been spread among the mages.

She slowly approached Connor, who was staring blankly at the wall. His right hand was wrapped in a bandage, and he stroked it idly with his left. Had they not been gentle with him? She hardly expected the Knight Commander to listen to her when she had made her challenge, but she had hoped, perhaps foolishly so.

"Connor?" He looked up at her, and the corners of his mouth turned up in a small smile, but he made no response otherwise. "You remember Wynne, don't you? She was with me in Redcliffe."

He nodded, but again, he said nothing. Wynne stepped up beside her, and smiled the matronly smile that always set Arais at ease. "Hello, Connor."

"Hi." His voice was soft, and he flinched when he brushed his hand over the bandage once more.

"Are you all right?" Arais prompted, and she frowned with concern.

"My hand hurts where they cut it," he replied as his hand stopped moving over the injury. "But I guess I'm okay."

"Here." Arais knelt in front of him and took the injured hand, unwrapping the bandage to get a look at the wound. It was just over an inch long, and deeper than it needed to be, and the edges were already red and swollen. They hadn't even put a salve on it to ease the pain. She hoped it was just an oversight on the templars' part, but she knew it was a naïve hope. The cut was too long, and too deep. They had intentionally harmed Connor.

She glanced up at Wynne, whose baffled expression mirrored her own. She pushed back her growing anger and laid her palm over the cut, and focused her magic. Blue tendrils of healing light reached from her hand and into the wound, ethereal sutures pulling it tight and closing it, slowly but surely. After a few moments, all that was left was a thin, white scar, hardly visible on his hand, so pale against her dark skin.

Arais looked up and smiled. "There. How does it feel?"

"A lot better." He hugged her. "Thank you, Arais."

She held Connor tight to her and looked to Wynne, frowning. Cullen had done this, she was sure of it. His ire at her warning probably spurred him on . . . but what could she do?

She held Connor at arms' length. "I'll be right back, okay? I need to talk to Wynne."

"Okay."

Wynne followed her into the hall, her eyebrow arched. "What is it?"

"I know who did this to him." She glanced down the hall, to ensure she would not be overheard. "Cullen was with Greagoir when he met us."

"Maker's breath." Wynne frowned deeply. "I knew Cullen would present a problem somehow. He would hardly interact with the mages before the coup, but recently a number of mages have gone to Irving with their concerns about his behavior."

"What has he done?"

"Apprentices have said that he has backed them into corners if they so much as look at him in a manner he deems unacceptable, and that he has been heavy handed on more than one occasion. I don't know how much truth lies in their stories, since they have said he has gone so far as to threaten them with tranquility, and that is difficult to believe, but their fear does seem quite genuine." She put a hand over her eyes. "I cannot believe Greagoir allowed him to perform the orientation ritual. He is obviously not in his right mind, even if the rumors of his transgressions might be exaggerated."

Outrage bubbled in the pit of Arais' stomach. "There must be something we can do. I promised Isolde that I would do everything in my power to protect Connor. It's going to be hard enough for him to adapt with the stigma of his possession following him; I will go to the Void before I allow Cullen to take out his prejudice on any child, especially Connor."

"Greagoir must have witnessed Cullen's behavior during the orientation. Perhaps I can speak to him, convince him that something must be done to keep Cullen away from the mages until he has recovered completely from the trauma of his incarceration."

"Do you think that would work?"

Wynne shrugged. "I don't know. But if I can convince Irving and the senior enchanters to speak on behalf of the apprentices, perhaps it will be possible."

"What about Connor?"

"I'll keep an eye on him, until we can sort out this mess." Wynne squeezed Arais's hand gently. "I promise, no further harm will come to him under my watch, if I can help it."

Emotions swelled up inside of Arais into a wave that crashed against her resolve, and again, her eyes swam with tears. She was worried for Connor, and for all the other mages who were forced to live there, forced to lives with armed men who hated them. Had she known the threat Cullen would be to the mages when she met him in the tower, she might have said something to Greagoir, and prevented Cullen from being allowed to serve in Kinloch Hold. But she hadn't, and now she was faced with the consequences.

She looked back into the dormitory, and saw that Connor still rubbed his hand where the cut had been, his cheeks stained with tears, and her heart broke for him. Before she could go to him, however, one of the children who had stayed with Petra during the coup tentatively approached him. She had tightly curled, dark hair tucked behind pointed ears, and skin the color of mahogany. She was young, though possibly older than Connor, and though Arais couldn't hear exactly what she said, the lyrical cadence of her voice suggested she was Antivan.

The girl sat on the bed beside him after a time, and something she said made Connor smile. It was a small, hesitant smile, but genuine all the same, and for the first time since they arrived, Arais felt like Connor might actually be all right. He was far from safe, and it killed her, knowing she couldn't be sure her promise to Isolde would be easily kept. At least it looked as if Connor would have a friend, though. And with Wynne keeping watch over him, she knew he had the best protection afforded to him.

Perhaps, for now, that could be enough.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Blight is over, and the coronation is fast approaching. As Arais fulfills a promise she made to a family whom the Maker had graciously brought into her life, she finds herself faced with so much change, and many of those changes she must make herself. My entry for the Dragon Age Big Bang on tumblr and Live Journal.

**20 Harvestmere, 9:31 Dragon**

The late afternoon sun was warm on her face, in contrast with the chill in the air, as Arais rode up to the Redcliffe stables. The trip back to Redcliffe was monumentally faster than the trip there had been. Even so, it had felt like an eternity, as her thoughts constantly strayed back to Connor, and to the mages who were left to deal with the pain and loss of so many of their fellows. Wynne was more or less in charge, second only to Irving, and she would do her best to keep the templars under control, but would they listen?

Bevin approached her horse, and once he took the reins from Arais' hand and helped her down from her mount, Arais was struck by how tall he had gotten since the last time she had seen him. Where he had once just barely reached her chest, the top of his head now ran parallel to her shoulders. More impressive still was how the growth spurt had happen in only a month. 

Her legs ached from the long ride, but adjusted quickly, and she removed a couple sovereigns from her coin purse and handed them to the young boy.

"Thank you kindly, ma'am," he said with a small bow and a gracious smile, pocketing the coins.

She nodded, her smile warm. "It was no trouble.”

With that, he walked off towards the stables with the horse, and disappeared inside.

Arais turned and looked up at the castle, and apprehension bloomed in her belly. What would she find inside? A family in shambles, no doubt. Isolde had been inconsolable when Greagoir sent word that Kinloch Hold was ready to take Connor. Eamon had been less than helpful, the implications of his poisoning finally weighing on their marriage. That Isolde couldn't have known of Loghain's plan to have the arl poisoned seemed not to matter to Eamon; he was cold and resentful toward his wife. Arais kept her distance from him, afraid she might say something rash, and lose what little trust she retained after the debacle with Alistair at the Landsmeet.

She crossed the bridge into the courtyard outside Redcliffe Castle, and the dull thuds of arrows hitting targets and the clang of swords met her ears—soldiers, young and old, training for battles yet to come. Many of them stopped when she passed by, bowing their heads. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate the sentiment, but she was embarrassed by the attention. They had all fought beside her to win the Blight, and she hadn't even struck the final blow against the archdemon. She had been knocked unconscious, and Loghain had accomplished what she had been unable to do herself.

An exuberant bark behind her was her only warning before Barkspawn circled his way around to face her, his entire backside wiggling excitedly. Arais caught his paws when he jumped up, and nearly lost her balance, and she couldn't help the smile that spread across her face as he licked her cheek.

"I know, I know, I missed you, too," she said, and scratched his ears.

He let out an appreciative woof, and fell back to all fours. He spun in a circle and ran toward a group of soldiers wearing what looked like extra clothing, then back to her again, wagging his tail expectantly.

"What is it, boy? You want to show me something?"

He jumped from side to side and barked, and she followed him when he loped to the soldiers. One of the men looked up when he noticed her approach, tightly woven braids brushing over his leather armor, dark eyes glittering.

"Oh! Warden Amell." Zhaal bowed, and his fellows followed suit. "We were wondering why Barkspawn had run off. Good to see you back."

"What's going on here?" she asked, curious.

"We've been using Barkspawn here for more aggressive training, recently,” he explained. “We rarely have the chance to work with dogs anymore, since most of the hounds were killed during the . . . incident a while back. The soldiers are better able to avoid an attacking dog since we began, though we took precautions, just in case he gets a good bite in." He patted Barkspawn on the head. "And I think he's benefiting from it, as well." 

Barkspawn woofed, and his tail still wagged rapidly. 

Zhaal smiled, hand still atop the hound’s head. "I hope that's all right?"

"He seems to be enjoying himself, so I don't see a problem with it." She knelt down and rubbed the hound's sides. "Just be careful, boy, okay? I don't want you to get hurt."

"He won't come to harm with us, Warden."

"I wouldn't trust him with anyone else. And please, call me Arais." He nodded, and she stood, brushing the dirt from her robes. "All right, boy, I need to go talk to the arlessa. You be good."

He barked his agreement and trotted over to a soldier who wore the extra padding, Zhaal following close behind. Barkspawn crouched into an attack stance, and leapt at the soldier as he had darkspawn so many times. The soldier rolled to the side, hindered only slightly by the excess clothing, and set himself on his knees. Barkspawn woofed and twirled excitedly, and ran to lick the man's face.

Arais smiled, not surprised that Barkspawn had taken a shine to the arl's soldiers. They had fought together, after all, when she left him behind at the gates of Denerim.

The guards at the door bowed lower than even the soldiers when she approached, and she recognized them both from the siege on Redcliffe—she was happy to see they had survived. When she entered the castle and the doors shut behind her, the silence was almost deafening, until voices trickled out from the main hall. They were hardly hushed, and the cadence of an Orlesian accent betrayed Isolde's presence and distress.

Arais crossed the threshold to find Isolde in conversation with Eamon and Teagan.

"Oh, thank the Maker," Isolde rushed over to the Warden, away from the two men.

Eamon's mouth was set in a grim line, and his eyes flashed as he watched his wife cross the room. But Teagan's shoulders relaxed, and he smiled almost imperceptibly when Arais met his eyes.

"Is Connor all right?" Isolde's tone demanded Arais' attention. "Were you able to stay with him?"

"Connor is fine," she answered, keeping her voice steady. "We made it to Kinloch Hold without incident. We were separated briefly for his orientation, but it went as smoothly as could be expected."

"Did they hurt him?" Her voice shook.

Arais hesitated, just slightly. "No. And they won't be able to, I made sure of it." She glanced away, and Teagan caught her gaze, one brow arched. Embarrassed, Arais looked away. Clearly, he knew she wasn't telling the whole truth, but it was already done. "Wynne is a senior enchanter, and gave me her word that she would look after him."

"Can this Wynne be trusted?" Eamon asked from across the room, arms crossed over his chest.

Arais bristled at the implication. "Of course. She was my mentor for almost seventeen years, and aided me during the Blight. I would trust her with my own life."

The arl nodded, his eyes straying to the fire that danced in the hearth, and said nothing more.

"I cannot thank you enough for what you have done, Warden," Isolde said, her eyes glossy with unshed tears.

Unsure what to say, Arais simply nodded. She felt awful lying to Isolde, even if it was over something as simple as a cut, but the particulars of the orientation were not in her power to disclose, especially regarding something as sensitive as phylacteries.

"Is there anything you would like?" Isolde asked. "A drink, or maybe—"

"Isolde," Eamon's voice was tight, restrained, "I am sure the Warden has had a long journey and would like to rest."

Isolde's shoulders went rigid, and for just a moment, anger burned in her light brown eyes. Just as quickly as it had come, the anger faded—replaced with a blank placidity—and she turned her head to face her husband briefly. "Of course." Her voice was as falsely calm as the expression in her eyes, and Arais's annoyance with the arl increased dramatically. "Warden—"

"Please, call me Arais," she interjected, forcing a smile.

Isolde nodded. "Of course. Arais, the servants have already prepared a room for your stay. Dinner will be in an hour." She motioned to an elven woman who stood quietly by the door. "Alliah will show you to your room."

"I . . ." Hesitant to accept the help, but not sure how to politely decline, Arais frowned.

"That won't be necessary, Isolde," Teagan said as he approached the two women. "I will escort our guest."

Isolde seemed surprised, but brushed it off. "Thank you." She turned to the servant. "Alliah, you can accompany me to my private chambers."

Dutifully, Alliah followed the arlessa out of the main hall, leaving Arais alone with Teagan and the arl. Eamon continued to stare into the fire, having not looked at her—or anyone, for that matter—since he had reprimanded his wife. It was hardly any concern to Arais, and she exited the main hall into the corridor without so much as a bow in the arl's direction.

Teagan fell into step beside her and placed a hand on her back. Her cheeks grew hot, and she smiled up at him. They climbed the steps to the second floor, and she found herself being led to the same room she had stayed in before the march on Denerim. She remembered that night fondly for the comfort he had offered, fleeting though it might have been. Their kiss, however brief because of Loghain's interruption, was set firmly in her memory. Her duties to the Wardens kept her in Denerim almost long enough to prevent her from fulfilling her promise to escort Connor. However, her determination to make his transition as easy as possible, coupled with her blossoming relationship with Teagan, was enough for her to insist she return to Redcliffe, at least until the coronation.

When they reached the door to her room, Teagan turned to face her. His brow was creased, and there were lines around his eyes. His eyes held no judgment; only something that looked like understanding. Why would he look at her like that?

Oh. He had caught her in a lie, hadn't he?

Damn.

She led him into the guest room, and closed the door. That would allow them at least some privacy. "Teagan, I . . . I want you to know that I was telling the truth, about Connor being fine. Now."

"I do know that." He rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. "What I don't know is what exactly happened at the Circle. Was Connor hurt?"

She sighed. How could she put this into words? There was really no good way to say it, without telling him the truth. She trusted Teagan, but it still made her uncomfortable to divulge the secrets that the Circle kept hidden to all but those who were ruled by Chantry doctrine.

"There are certain . . . precautions the templars take when a new mage is brought to any of the Circles outside of Tevinter. One of them involves retrieving a few drops of blood from the mage initiate during orientation. A small incision is made on the palm of the hand, and the blood is collected in a small vial." Teagan was silent, but his grip on her hand had tightened marginally. "For me, it was quick, not entirely painless, but the templar in charge of my orientation used a salve on it before bandaging it up." She lifted her hand from his to show him her palm, where a thin, pale scar still lingered.

"I take it something went differently with Connor?" he prompted.

"Yes." Arais let her hand fall to her side. "The cut was deeper than it needed to be, and it was bandaged poorly. I should have stayed with him, insisted that they allow me to accompany him through his orientation, but I know they wouldn't have allowed it. They were needlessly rough with him, and I don't doubt it was because of the circumstances under which he was discovered."

The muscles in Teagan's jaw moved rapidly beneath his skin, his eyes ablaze with anger. "Have they no regard for children? Connor is just a boy; how could they be so careless?"

"It wasn't carelessness." She unfastened the button at her throat and laid her cloak across a chair. A fire burned low in the fireplace, and she sat on one of the steps before it, rubbing her hands over her face. "It was cruelty, exacted by a templar who I know is not fit for duty. There is no excuse for what he did, and I should have known any tolerance for me wouldn't carry into the chamber once I was gone. Cullen wouldn't have taken such a risk if he thought he would be reprimanded for it."

"This is . . . unbelievable. I had heard rumors, but I had hoped . . ." He sighed, sitting beside her. "You say Connor is all right?"

"Yes. I healed the wound as soon as I saw how bad it was. He has a scar, but it should no longer bother him. At least physically." Her breath hitched in her chest, and tears burned in her eyes, but she blinked them back. "I can't promise he will come to no further harm, but Wynne was there, and she saw what the templars did. She swore she would talk to the first enchanter; they will do what they can to convince the Knight Commander to keep Cullen in line."

"Was the Knight Commander not there for Connor's orientation?"

She hesitated. "He was: it's procedure. I would like to think he just didn't notice . . . but if he did allow for that to happen, that is another matter entirely, and not one that can be easily dealt with. But I trust Wynne, and Irving as well, and I know they are more than capable of getting through to the Knight Commander. Until then, Wynne is keeping a close eye on Connor. I have to believe that will be enough, for now."

"If you say she can be trusted, then I will take your word for it." He reached up a hand to cup her cheek. "Thank you, Arais. There is no one other than you with whom I could have trusted my nephew's well being, short of myself."

"I—You're welcome. I wish I had been able to do more."

"What more could you have done?" His hand left her cheek to hold her hand, his thumb tracing the scar on her palm. "You said yourself that they would not have let you join him during his orientation."

"I just hate that I had to leave him there. As a Warden, I'm unable to return to Kinloch Hold permanently, and yet, right now, there is nothing more I would rather do. Anything, to ensure Connor's safety, and the safety of all the others, as well." She frowned, and stared down at their joined hands, rather than look at him directly. "I trust Wynne, I really do, and I know she will do what she can, but there is only so much she can do without risking an incident with the templars. I know that, but it doesn't keep me from hoping she'll take those risks—maybe confront the templars when they abuse their power, and fight against their abuse. And it's selfish, truly, deeply selfish, but I can't help it.

"Part of me knows that the only way to keep the templars in check is to have his family see him regularly, but that's impossible. Chantry law forbids mages from seeing their families once they're placed in the Circle. Mages who have borne children have had them taken away, whether the infants drew breath or not." Her free hand ran back through her hair, catching in tangles and knots she hadn't even realized were there. Maker, she must look like a complete and total wreck. "I just wish there was something, anything I could do to help him; to help them all, even if only in Ferelden, or just Kinloch Hold." She thought about her conversation with Wynne. The older woman was so sure Arais would think of a way to make life easier for mages. But where would she even begin?

"Perhaps there is something you can do," Teagan said, rather abruptly. He had been silent as she vented her feelings on the situation, but now he sounded determined.

"What do you have in mind?" she asked, glancing up to see that determination plain on his face.

"It isn't much in the way of a substantial idea, but . . ." He paused, and it looked as though he were searching for the right words. "The coronation is just under a month away. I don't know a great deal about what Anora is planning, otherwise, but the rumors pouring in from Denerim all suggest that she is prepared to offer the Wardens a great deal of freedom. And, as you are the savior of our great nation, I believe she plans to offer you a boon of your choosing."

"A . . . A boon?" Arais blinked at him, not quite comprehending the enormity of such a prospect. "There must be some restrictions on that sort of thing. I can't possibly be allowed to choose anything."

"You defeated the archdemon and stopped the Blight before it could completely consume Ferelden. She could offer you the throne, and it wouldn't be enough."

She let out a frustrated huff. "I didn't defeat the archdemon, Loghain did. I was knocked unconscious. I've told you this."

"Perhaps, but you are still the only reason any of us even made it that far. The only reason Loghain was in a position to deliver that final blow." He folded both her hands between his. "You deserve whatever you find it in your heart to ask of Anora, and I can almost guarantee she will be willing to deliver. You need only think of what is most important to you. What will bring you the most peace, or joy."

She wanted to argue, but couldn't find it in her to try. He was so sincere, and she knew, deep down, that even if what he said wasn't true, she wouldn't be able to convince him otherwise.

At any rate, maybe this was the starting point she needed.

A small smile touched her lips, and she slipped a hand free of his to push back a loose strand of his hair. She rested her palm on his cheek, his beard tickling her skin. "Thank you, Teagan," she murmured, lowering her hand. "I'm sorry I lied to Isolde. I thought about it a great deal in the time it took to return here, and I just . . . couldn't worry her anymore than she already will."

"I understand. That was the right thing to do. The kind thing. I'm just grateful you could tell me."

There was a knock at the door, and Arais looked over to see Alliah standing on the other side of the threshold, her large eyes bright in the firelight. She seemed distressed. "Mistress Isolde sent me to tell the two of you that dinner will be delayed, and she sends her apologies."

"Thank you, Alliah," Teagan replied.

The elf nodded and hurried off. "Is she usually that nervous?" Arais asked.

"Recently, yes." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Isolde and Eamon have been somewhat at odds since Connor left. My brother is not taking it well, and, as you witnessed downstairs, has become short tempered, particularly with Isolde. Their arguments are nothing to be trifled with, and the servants have all been wary."

"I did notice his . . . deameanor," she said, carefully controlling her voice so as not to display any unintentional ire. "Do you think Eamon will improve, given time?"

He looked into the fire. He let out a slow breath, and lifted his shoulders in a slight shrug. "Actually, we have discussed the possibility of him stepping down as arl. The political ramifications of what Isolde did—hiding Connor's magic, hiring an apostate to train him, not to mention that apostate poisoning Eamon—are proving too much for him. He has been far more quick to tire than usual, and less likely to temper his anger."

Arais looked down at their hands, her brows furrowed. "If he steps down, then that means—"

"—the arling will be passed on to me, yes." He touched a finger to her chin. "Does that bother you?"

"No," she lied feebly.

"Arais . . ."

"Oh, I don't know." Arais met his eyes. "I'm a mage, Teagan. You're nobility. Even as a bann, you hold power and privilege that I could never in my wildest imaginings hope to be allowed. This"—she lifted their joined hands—"whatever it is, probably shouldn't be happening as it is. If you become an arl . . ."

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it." He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles. "However, I won't force you into anything that you are not comfortable with. If you want to stop this now, I won't blame you."

"I—" She looked into the eyes of the man who had helped her find hope when she thought there was none to be had, who had stoked a fire she had thought would never burn again, and found she couldn't look away. Maker knew she couldn't handle being hurt again, and this seemed destined to inflict that sort of pain on her, sooner or later. The question was, would it hurt more now or later; to never allow herself the chance, or to have a fleeting period of happiness and have it end?

"You don't have to decide now," he amended, squeezing her hand. "Take all the time you need. In the meantime, you should rest before dinner. My brother may have been short, but he was right, you are probably exhausted from your journey." He stood, and helped her to her feet.

"Thank you." She leaned up and placed a soft kiss on his cheek, and lingered there for a moment. "For everything."

"It was no trouble. Arais." With that, he bowed his head and exited the room, closing the door behind him.

Arais turned and stared into the fire, and she blinked back the sudden tears that burned her eyes.

But why struggle against them? Why try and hold them back? No one was there to see, and she had every right to cry. It was all so overwhelming, and she hardly knew where to start with all that needed to be done. On top of dealing with Cullen's outrageous treatment of the mages, now she had to decide what to do about Teagan. It was all just too much.

She moved to where she had dropped her pack on the chair, and opened one of the outer pockets. Inside laid the rose Alistair had given her, carefully dried and tended to for so many months. She touched it with the tip of her index finger, the petals rough against her skin. When she at last held it in her hand, she felt, as always, the persistent question of why she still had it tense her muscles, and rise like a scream in her throat. It only reminded her of pain and loss, and further affirmed her hesitance to allow herself any sort of happiness with Teagan, no matter how short lived it might be.

A tear burned a path down her cheek, and not for the first time she contemplated destroying the rose, and ridding herself of the pain it invoked once and for all. But, to no surprise, she slipped it back into the pocket, and felt her resentment toward it, and toward Alistair, grow even more. She pushed her pack aside and sat, and allowed the tears that had already begun to spill to fall at will, and cried into her open palms.

She stayed like that for a time, and the sobs wracked her body as her emotions ravaged her. Not just her anger, or her grief, but the knowledge that the place she had once called home had become—or perhaps had always been—a living nightmare, cleverly concealed from those who lived outside its towering walls. Her hands fell to her lap, and she stared at the bed. She was exhausted, not just from the journey, and if she lay down, maybe she could relax, or at least think without feeling the weight of her decisions pushing down on her. She stood and moved to the edge of the bed and unlaced her boots, then set them aside on the floor.

When her head hit the pillow, exhaustion hit her like a blow from a shield, but still her thoughts raced. Her conversation with Teagan, her trip to the Circle. So many thoughts relating to the mages and their treatment. She couldn't seem to sleep no matter how much she willed it.

Finally, her mind settled on one thing: this boon that she would supposedly receive from Anora. The Chantry needed to tighten the reins on their templars, but any request she might make, even to the queen, would likely go ignored if it pertained to Circle.

No. She needed to stop this defeatist line of thought. There had to be something, anything for which she could ask that would be within the realm of reason. Perhaps limiting herself was the problem. Arais was about as well versed in politics as Oghren was in Chantry scripture, so it was entirely probable she was underestimating Anora's influence as queen.

Wait. Perhaps that was it.

She flipped onto her side, her heart pounding hard in her chest.

Could she ask for that? For familial visitation for the mages in the Circle? What she had thought impossible before seemed plausible now, maybe even the better option. Rather than request more restrictions on the templars, asking for something as simple as giving mages the right to see their families could serve to keep the templars in check. They would have to think twice about harming the mages, lest their families notice something off and start asking questions. And it would be difficult for them to justify denying such a request, as it would make it look as though they had something to hide. It would require more thought, and some fine-tuning, but it could work.

Assuming Anora even offered her a boon.

Maker, she hoped those rumors wouldn't prove false.

Bent over a wrinkled piece of parchment, Arais wrote as quickly as her hand was capable, the thoughts coming to her faster than she could jot them down. She had slept barely long enough for the fire in the hearth to burn down to embers before she woke to a surge of excitement. Now that the night had gone and the morning sun shone through the window, her mind had finally tied up all the loose ends of what she could ask of Anora. It wasn't perfect, and it might not be easy to put into action, should her request be granted, but it was something, at the very least, and it could work.

A soft, rapid knock at the door tore her attention away from the parchment, and she straightened. Her back was stiff and sore, and her hand ached. How long had she been writing?

After she slipped the parchment into her pack, she crossed the room, clenching her hand into a fist and releasing it repeatedly. When she opened the door, Isolde greeted her with a smile.

"Arlessa Isolde?" Arais opened the door wider and motioned for Isolde to enter. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes, of course. Everything is fine." The arlessa walked into the room, and settled herself on the edge of the bed, still smiling. "I trust you slept well?"

She closed the door, to allow them privacy. "I did." It wasn't a lie, per se. She felt rested, despite the abruptness of her waking.

"I am happy to hear it." Isolde folded and unfolded her hands in her lap, her smile gone. A few moments passed before she seemed to make a decision. "I . . . wanted to apologize, for yesterday. My husband has not been himself since he learned the truth of Connor's tutor."

"There's no need to apologize," Arais soothed. "You did what you felt was best for Connor, and Jowan took advantage of the situation."

Isolde's lips were pressed into a line, and her brow knitted together. She stared at the carpet. "It was foolish of me to trust him, but what could I do? I was terrified I would never see my son again if the Chantry learned of his magic. And what good did it do me? Connor is still gone, and my husband despises me for it." Unsure what to say, Arais sat beside the arlessa. "I know he blames me for bringing Jowan into our home. And I suppose he's right. If I had just accepted that sending Connor to the Circle was inevitable, Eamon would never have been poisoned, and Connor wouldn't have tried to deal with a demon."

"Eamon is blaming the wrong person," Arais stated firmly, "and so are you. Loghain, whatever his reasons might have been, is the one who sent Jowan to poison Eamon, not you. You were only trying to keep Connor safe."

"I know, but . . ." Isolde's voice wavered, and she took a deep breath.

"Isolde, you did what any mother would want to do for her child, in this situation." The arlessa looked at her, eyes glossy with tears. "I'm only sorry Eamon doesn't seem to realize that. Teagan does; he has said as much to me. And if I had been in your position, I would have done the same."

A tear slipped down Isolde's cheek, and another, and another, until her shoulders began to shake, and a choked sob escaped her. Arais hesitated, but then pulled the arlessa into her arms, holding her tight as she cried. Could Eamon really be so cruel as to blame his wife for something that very clearly wasn't her fault?

Of course, there were his actions during the Blight to consider. How he had disregarded Alistair's reluctance to take the throne and Arais' misgivings about deposing Anora. Yes, no doubt he could. Eamon seemed to be so focused on what he wanted; it wasn't all that much of a stretch for him to be the sort who would blame everyone but himself for the things that plagued him.

Eventually, the sobs quieted and the shaking ebbed, and Isolde sat up. She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes, red and puffy. She was silent, save for the occasional hiccup at whatever emotions might have raged on within.

"It . . ." she began, her voice thick. "It has not been easy, with Connor gone and Eamon acting as he has been, but . . . you're right. I just don't know what I can do."

"I'm not sure, either, but believe me when I say that the answer will come to you. And Teagan and I will support you, whatever you decide."

"Thank you, Arais." Isolde took Arais' hand and squeezed gently. "You have done so much, I don't know what I can do to repay you."

"You don't have to do anything."

Though she hardly seemed to be dissuaded, Isolde nodded. She stood and walked to the door, but turned to face Arais before she crossed the threshold. "Would you care to accompany me to the dining room? I believe breakfast has already begun."

Arais looked over at her pack, aware of the importance of its contents now more than ever. With a smile, she looked back to Isolde. "Of course."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Blight is over, and the coronation is fast approaching. As Arais fulfills a promise she made to a family whom the Maker had graciously brought into her life, she finds herself faced with so much change, and many of those changes she must make herself. My entry for the Dragon Age Big Bang on tumblr and Live Journal.

**22 Firstfall, 9:31 Dragon**

The rebuilt royal estate bustled with activity as the coronation rapidly approached. It had been this way since she arrived, and Arais was hidden away in her quarters. She listened to the footsteps that hurried to and fro in the corridor outside, a constant presence in varying volumes for the past two days and nights. She wouldn't mind it so much if every other servant didn't stop to ask if she needed something; as it was, she had gone directly to her room upon her return from the marketplace.

She had just come back from wandering Denerim, something she hadn't been able to do the previous day due to various meetings with Anora, discussing the ceremony for the evening and what Arais's part in it would be. While Anora agreed that Loghain deserved equal recognition for his part in the destruction of the archdemon, others present pointed out that it might cause discord among the nobles. Anora didn't seem to care, but she agreed, nonetheless. Arais sensed the queen was thinking of a way to honor her father, and deservedly so, but exactly what she planned to do was a mystery.

Her trip through Denerim had been like exploring a whole new city, so very different from the one through which she had fought wave after wave of darkspawn. The four months since had been dedicated to restoration. Though many of the nobles had been eager to get the coronation over with, Anora insisted that the marketplace and the homes immediately surrounding it be rebuilt beforehand. On this she would not budge, and it was only a matter of days before the nobles conceded.

The estates were sturdier, made entirely of granite, and she suspected the dwarven denizens had a hand in their construction. Even the homes of the common citizen were constructed with more substantial materials than the wooden planks from before the attack, and she couldn't imagine just how much gold had been poured into rebuilding the marketplace after so much chaos; especially for it to have happened so quickly. And still more would be needed to restore Fort Drakon, and the estates that had yet to be rebuilt.

Now, Arais sat at the vanity, the parchment with her notes listed on it spread out before her. A good number of points had been scratched out, either for being too extreme or too like something she had already written. She stared at what was left, wondering if it would be enough to accomplish any sort of progress for the Circle, or if perhaps it was too much. She knew a family being able to visit their kin was nonnegotiable, but what she would ask of the Chantry, regarding the templars . . . would they even take such a request seriously, especially if it came from a mage?

A knock at the door startled Arais from her notes, and thrust her violently back into the present. She turned to the door, brow furrowed. She wasn't expecting anyone.

"Who is it?" she called.

"N-Nessa," a melodic voice stuttered. "The queen sent me to deliver a package."

She let out a breath she had been holding, and her shoulders relaxed. "Come in," she called, adjusting her dressing gown to better cover herself, and slipped the notes back into her pack.

The door opened and closed, and when Arais turned to face her visitor, a petite elven girl with olive skin and dark red-brown hair greeted her. She carried two parcels in her lanky arms. "Mistress Amell, these are gifts from Queen Anora."

"Gifts?"

Puzzled, Arais took the parcels from the young girl and sat on the bed. She opened the smaller of the two first, revealing a pair of low-heeled, satin shoes. They were dark blue, with intricate silver beading along the edges. She set them aside and opened the larger parcel, and very nearly dropped the box when she saw what was inside: a luxurious pile of the most gorgeous gray brocade she had ever seen, and a smaller bundle of deep blue silk atop it.

She removed the blue fabric, unfolding it to reveal a strip easily as long as she was tall, if not longer. The elven woman approached her and held out her hand for the strip, which she folded neatly once again and placed it beside Arais on the bed. Arais then removed the larger bundle of fabric, a gown that she would have described as simple if not for the elaborately embroidered fabric. The neckline dipped into a V, and she was sure it would be far lower than she was used to. The handmaiden took the gown from Arais, and laid it out next to the strip of silk.

Beneath it lay yet another pile of blue silk, and when she took it out to examine it, found it to be a low cut slip. For a moment, she simply stared between the four items, unable to remember a time when she had been given a gift of such lavish quality. She was more than a little overwhelmed at the prospect of wearing something so extravagant, when she felt she would be just as appropriate—and quite a bit more comfortable—wearing her Warden robes to the ceremony.

There was yet another knock on the door, and she called for whomever was there to enter, her eyes still fixated on the slip she held.

"Ah, there you are!" an exuberant voice cried.

Arais looked up, surprised by the familiar Orlesian accent. "Leliana! What are you doing here?"

"I'm here for the coronation, of course." The redhead smiled. "You did not think I would miss an opportunity to celebrate our victory, did you?"

"No, no, of course not." Laying the slip aside, Arais stood and greeted her dear friend with an embrace. "It's just been a while."

"Too long, in fact." Leliana held Arais at arm's length. "How have you been?"

"It's been a long four months since the Blight ended, but I've been well, considering."

"I am glad to hear it." The bard's eyes shifted to the bed, where the elaborate gown lay. "Oh, you've gotten your gift from the queen!"

"You knew about it?" Arais asked.

"Of course, silly. How do you think the queen knew your measurements?" Leliana walked over to the bed and picked up the shoes, presenting them with an elaborate flourish. "Aren't these just lovely? I saw them in the marketplace and thought they suited you perfectly."

"They are beautiful, yes," Arais replied.

Her tone must not have been appropriate, because Leliana's smile faltered. "Is something the matter?"

"No, nothing is wrong. I'm just not quite used to receiving such extravagant gifts," she replied with a half-smile.

The bard nodded. "I suppose I should have expected as much." She grinned. "But the occasion certainly calls for it, don't you think?" Before Arais could respond, Leliana turned to the handmaiden. "I will help the Warden dress for the coronation, Nessa. Thank you for you help."

"Of course, mistress."

The elven woman left the room quickly, and Arais couldn't help but wonder just how long Leliana had been planning for this. A gown as lavish as it was must have taken time to make. It was entirely possible Leliana and Anora had commissioned it as soon as the date for the coronation had been set.

"Let's get to it, then, shall we?" the bard said cheerfully. Without hesitation, Leliana motioned for Arais to come closer. The mage complied, but didn't make any move otherwise. "You'll need to remove your dressing gown; you can hardly wear it under your gown."

Arais chuckled. "I suppose I can't." She unwrapped the tie around her waist and allowed the gown to slip from her shoulders, grateful for the fire that warmed the room. With Ferelden on the brink of winter, the perpetual chill in the castle was barely kept at bay.

Leliana lifted the slip over Arais's head, and the mage slipped her arms through the thin straps. The silk brushed her skin as it slipped down to her bare feet, pooling just the slightest bit on the carpeted floor.

"It's a bit long," she commented, gesturing downward.

"That's what the heeled shoes are for," Leliana replied.

She gestured for Arais to lift her arms again. The sleeves were snug on her arms, and the dress hugged her curves gently. The skirt split just below her waist, rippling off to either side until it touched the floor. Leliana wove the broad length of dark blue silk behind Arais's back and tied it elaborately over her stomach, the excess falling center between the split in the gown, just above her ankles.

Once she slipped on the shoes, Leliana led her to the full-length mirror by the door. The effect of the gown was stunning, and Arais was astonished. She was more than a little self conscious about just how revealing the bust was, but what could she do? There was no wrap to go with it, as far as she was aware, and her only other option was her mage robes. And she didn't want to insult Anora—the dress really was lovely, and she couldn't be more grateful.

"What do you think?" Leliana asked, her blue eyes shining with unabashed excitement.

"It's . . . gorgeous. Truly." Arais genuinely smiled. "Thank you for helping me dress."

"Oh, we're not quite finished yet." Leliana took her by the arm and practically dragged her to the vanity. "We still have to do something with your hair!" Before Arais could sit, there was a knock at the door.

Puzzled by the unexpected intrusion, she crossed to the door and pulled it open. A teenaged boy stood a pace back from the door, his hands folded in front of him. "A homing pigeon arrived at the castle with a missive for you."

He held out a small scroll, barely longer than her finger, which she took with a bit of confusion. "Thank you," she said. He nodded and walked off without another word.

She untied the delicate, dark blue ribbon that kept the scroll bound, and unrolled the note. She scanned the contents once, and immediately had to reread them. This couldn't possibly be . . .

"Well?" Leliana prompted, suddenly in front of Arais. "What does it say?"

Arais handed the parchment to the bard, unable to voice the contents. It just didn't seem like it could be real.

"Oh, my." Leliana stared at her, eyes wide with astonishment that easily mirrored Arais's own. "This says you've been named . . . " Leliana trailed off, and seemed to lose the words that normally came so easily to her.

After taking a deep breath, Arais forced herself to say it. "I'm the new Warden Commander of Ferelden."

She paced the hall outside the great hall, her nerves strung tight. Leliana had done her hair and makeup shortly after, and left her with a promise that she would say nothing unless Arais wished it. It certainly wasn't something she was prepared to deal with, at the moment.

Why Arais? Why make her, who had never left the Circle after the age of eight, the Commander of the Grey for an entire country? She barely survived the Blight!

She slipped the missive from the wrap at her waist, still entirely unsure why she had hidden it there in the first place.

_ Warden Amell _

_ Due to your successful destruction of the archdemon and the darkspawn hoard, it has been decided that you will take Duncan's place as Commander of the Grey in Ferelden. The First Warden and I have already begun communications with your nation's queen with regards to replenishing Warden numbers, and we have informed her of your promotion in that time. We will be sending reinforcements as soon as your queen gives our Wardens permission to cross the border from Orlais. _

_ Chamberlain Enrech _

She stared at the first sentence, though she had it memorized by this point, still flabbergasted. Had they not been told that Loghain had been the one to actually kill the archdemon? Were the rumors in Ferelden really naming her the true victor, out of spite for the general? He would make a far more effective Commander than she—they must know that?

Arais stood by the door to the throne room, her heart fluttering wildly, and resisted the urge to run her hand through her hair—Leliana had pinned it back, and she wouldn't be happy if Arais ruined it before it could be seen. As the moments ticked closer to the coronation, she began to think of what was about to happen with more and more apprehension. Now she had not only the Circle to worry about, but the entirety of the bloody Fereldan Wardens, as well. Sure, for now there were only two of them, but reinforcements would be sent, according to the High Constable. And how many Wardens would that be? Ten? A hundred? He hadn't said, and she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

Footsteps sounded behind the door, and it was flung open to reveal Leliana. She wore a long-sleeved, sheer lavender gown that ruffled at the bodice, and the dark blue slip she wore beneath peeked out at the hem.

The bard stopped short, and her eyes widened in surprise. "Arais! Why haven't you come in yet?"

"I suppose I'm just not ready," she replied, her voice shaking slightly with nerves.

"Oh." She took Arais's hand, and pulled her forward. "Well, the Grand Cleric has just announced that the coronation is about to begin. Come!"

The crowd assembled within the throne room was a collection of nobles and very, very few familiar faces. Arais looked around, and recognized only a handful of the men and women assembled beside the rich, yellow carpet that led to the throne. Further down the line, however, she recognized a small group of familiar faces, and she realized with relief that Leliana was leading her in that exact direction.

Zevran was the first to notice her approach, and the smile that spread across his face was infectious. "Ah, Arais. Wonderful of you to finally join us," he teased, and wrapped her up in a tight embrace, placing a quick kiss on her cheek.

She chuckled. "Sorry I'm late."

"You're forgiven, my dear." He stepped back and looked her up and down. "You look ravishing, as always."

"Thank you, Zevran. Though I have Leliana to thank." She took in the black doublet he wore over a deep red tunic, and matching red trousers tucked into black leather boots. "You're looking very handsome yourself."

"Don't I always?"

He smirked, and she laughed again.

She turned to the rest of the group, a grin plastered on her face. Sten was there, clad in armor, and Asala strapped to his back. His expression was grim, though he nodded at her with the respect that seemed to characterize his interaction with her as of late. He said nothing, but she just knew how much it meant that he was still here, in Ferelden, when he could have left for his homeland at any point in the months since the archdemon was slain.

Oghren was slow to react to her presence, and she suspected he was already deep into his spirits. "Warden! It's about sodding time you got here." He held out his flask to her. "Here, have a drink! There's plenty to go around."

"No, thank you."

She smiled when he grunted and slipped the flask back into the holster at his hip. "Never was able to get you drunk, Warden."

"Oghren, how many times do I have to ask you to call me Arais?"

"It's not my fault human names are impossible to pronounce!" he retorted bitterly, and all but Sten laughed.

"Perhaps if you didn't imbibe quite so many spirits, you would have an easier time pronouncing a simple three syllable name," Sten remarked, and everyone turned to look at him, surprised. He merely shrugged.

"Look who's talking?" Oghren's head tilted dangerously to look the Qunari in the eye. "When's the last time you referred to any of us by our names?"

Sten's only response was to stare - eyes dark - at the dwarf, who held up his hands in surrender before reaching for the flask at his belt once more.

There was an obvious absence from the group, and Arais turned to Leliana. "Where is Wynne?"

"I'm . . . not sure," the bard replied, frowning. "The last message we received from Wynne said she and the First Enchanter would be coming, along with the Knight Commander, but that was over a month ago."

"I see." That was . . . worrisome, to say the least. What could be keeping them?

Out of the corner of her eye, Arais noticed the door to the great hall open. There she saw Wynne and First Enchanter Irving, who stood in the company of a full armored templar, helmet and all. The templar was too short to be the Knight Commander, and again Arais became concerned. Was something amiss at Kinloch Hold that required the Knight Commander's presence?

Wynne looked around the room, seemingly unconcerned with her late arrival. When she spotted Arais, Wynne swiftly made her way forward, the First Enchanter and templar close behind.

"Wynne, where have you been?" Arais asked, unable to temper the concern in her voice. "Why is the Knight Commander not with you?"

"The Knight Commander has elected to remain behind in lieu of more pressing concerns, regarding the disciplinary action of one of his templars." Wynne's following smile was one of reassurance, and she lowered her voice. "Everything is fine, Arais. Irving and I were able to convince Greagoir to keep a more watchful eye on Cullen. No one was hurt, but Greagoir is making some immediate changes to the duty roster after an incident with one of the older apprentices."

"Oh, thank the Maker." Relief bloomed warm and strong in her chest. "How is Connor? Is he adjusting well?"

"Connor is doing splendidly. He has made a number of friends—the young girl who introduced herself to him his first day, Vitalia, and some of the other children. The rumors of how his magic came to be discovered spread rapidly, no doubt thanks to the templars, but none of the children truly seem to care. The only ones who are wary of him are the older apprentices, but we've quashed any concerns they may have as they are brought to our attention.

"I'm afraid we won't be able to stay very long, as there is business we must attend to with the Grand Cleric after the ceremony, but I insisted we come so I could give you the news."

"I appreciate it," Arais replied, and hugged the older woman tight. "Do you know what Greagoir plans to do about Cullen?"

"Actually, that is why we came to Denerim. Greagoir is requesting for Cullen to be transferred to a different post, well away from Kinloch Hold, until he can work through his troubles. Greagoir is waiting on our word to inform Cullen of this, however, so we must make haste. But before we leave . . ." she trailed off, and gestured to the front of the hall.

The room fell silent, and all eyes turned toward the front of the great hall as Anora entered, Loghain at her side.

Anora came to stand in front of Grand Cleric Elemena, who stood on the raised dais at one end of the room. After passing her gaze across those assembled, the Grand Cleric raised her arms to begin the ceremony.

"All men are the work of our Maker's hands,

From the lowest slaves to the highest kings.

Those who bring harm

Without provocation to the least of His children

Are hated and accursed by the Maker."

Anora climbed the steps and faced the Grand Cleric, her long-sleeved white gown brushing the floor. Elemena held out her hands.

"Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the people of Ferelden according to our laws and customs?"

"I solemnly promise so to do." Anora's voice was strong and clear.

"Will you solemnly promise to use your power in law and justice, tempered by mercy, in all your judgments?"

"I solemnly promise so to do."

"Will you, to the utmost of your power, maintain the Laws of the Maker and of the Chant of Light? Will you maintain and preserve the doctrine, worship, and discipline of the Chantry? And will you preserve unto the Chantry all its lawful rights and privileges?"

Here, Anora paused. "All this I promise so to do. In the Maker's name, I swear."

The Revered Mother, whose name escaped Arais, stepped forward. She faced the room at large when she spoke. "I ask the people: Do you wish for such a ruler?"

Arais and all but the small group with which she stood said, "We wish it and grant it."

Again, Elemena spoke.

" Those who oppose thee

Shall know the wrath of heaven.

Field and forest shall burn,

The seas shall rise and devour them,

The wind shall tear their nations

From the face of the earth,

Lightning shall rain down from the sky,

They shall cry out to their false gods

And find silence."

"I give you Anora Mac Tir, Queen of Ferelden," Elemena said, and placed the elaborate circlet atop Anora's head. The Grand Cleric then turned, her arms spread out as if she wished to hold the entire room. "Maker save the queen!"

The crowd echoed the Grand Cleric, a great many of them cheering or whistling. The flowing, white sleeves of Anora's gown slipped down her forearm as she waved to her subjects, the golden embroidery glimmering in the sunlight that shone through the high windows. A soft smile turned up the corners of her mouth.

A slurred, "Maker save the sodding queen!" abruptly drew Arais's attention away from the queen.

"Oghren!" Leliana cried, her hand covering her mouth.

"Did I say that out loud?" Oghren hiccupped. "Heh. Oops."

Arais laughed, and Leliana did as well, despite her initial offense. None of the nobles seemed to have heard the dwarf's remark, and were rather more focused on Sten's complete lack of enthusiasm for the occasion. It didn't come as any sort of surprise to Arais, though—he wasn't human, and no one should have expected anything more than silent contemplation from the Qunari.

The room began to fall silent once more, and all eyes turned back to the throne, where Anora stood with her hands folded elegantly across her stomach. A pair of armored guards approached the small group with which Arais stood, and motioned for each of them to approach the throne. Arais felt the dozens of pairs of eyes follow her and her companions as they followed the guards.

"My friends," Anora began, her voice carrying to every corner of the great hall, "we are gathered not only for a coronation, but to celebrate those responsible for our victory just two months ago. Of those who stood against the darkspawn siege of Denerim, there is one in particular who deserves commendation.

"The one who led the final charge against the archdemon remains with us still"—she motioned for Arais to join her by the throne, and, with some hesitation, Arais acquiesced—"an inspiration to all she saved that day. Ladies and gentlemen, may I formally present to you Arais Amell, Hero of Ferelden!"

The cheers which shattered the silence seemed to go on for an eternity, and Arais' cheeks burned. Grateful as she was, she wasn't thrilled with the attention. She did her best to tune out the whoops and whistles of the crowd, and focus on Anora, who patiently waited for silence.

Eventually, the crowd quieted as they became aware that the queen was not yet finished with her speech. "Warden Commander, it is hard to imagine how you could have aided Ferelden more. I think it only appropriate that I return the favor. As a reward, I offer you a boon of your choice."

Arais froze, the use of her newly learned title stopping her cold. She looked down at her companions: all who were sober enough to be surprised were staring at her, dumbstruck, save Leliana, who simply had her hand on her chest, her eyes filled with concern.

The silence stretched out awkwardly, but Arais couldn't seem to open her mouth to deliver the words she had prepared. She looked around—expectant faces looked up at her, and she realized with a start that Teagan was among the nobles closest to the throne, with Isolde right beside him. How had she not noticed them sooner?

Their presence, but particularly Isolde's, reminded her why her request was so important, and with a deep, shaky breath, she began, "Your majesty, I would request that the Chantry grant the Circles of Magi in Ferelden independence, with the right to visitation with their families once a month." There was an audible gasp from the Grand Cleric. Ignoring Elemena, Arais added, "I do not ask that the templars be removed from their position as guardians, only that there are more stringent measures put in place to ensure that men and women who will treat the mages with dignity are recruited in the future, and that current templars are more closely watched for mistreatment."

There were whisperings from the crowd, silenced only when Anora lifted her hand. "I doubt the Chantry will agree I have the authority to grant your request, however" the queen said, with a small, barely noticeable smirk, "I do, and you have an excellent point."

The Grand Cleric made a disgruntled noise, but said nothing.

Arais glanced to the crowd, and saw Wynne looking up at her, a good-natured, "I told you so," shining in her eyes.

"Let it be known that Ferelden's mages have earned the right to watch over themselves, and to see their families. The tower shall be restored and returned to the Circle." All this she said to Arais directly, and then turned to face the room at large. "Let it also be known that the Arling of Amaranthine, once the land of Arl Rendon Howe, is now granted to the Grey Wardens of Ferelden. There they can rebuild, following the example of those who went before them." Anora glanced back at Arais briefly. "And I think it only appropriate that Warden Commander Amell be named arlessa."

Maker's blood. Arlessa? Was Anora completely mad, or had her sanity been temporarily compromised by the coronation?

"There is one other person here today deserving of recognition." Anora made a brief gesture, and it was as if the nobles collectively forgot how to breathe when Loghain ascended the steps, his movements deliberate. He had expected this; that much was obvious. Arais could see it in the confidence of his gait as he stepped up beside her, and the way he angled his chin upward when he turned to face the gathered nobles, as if he dared any of them to say a word. They looked to their neighbors, and their wide eyes and, in some cases, slightly opened mouths conveyed their shock.

"Loghain Mac Tir. Arais Amell." The seneschal came forward at Anora's insistence, and opened the lid to a carved wooden box. Two gemmed pendants lay on the golden velvet within. "You have gone above and beyond the call of duty in defense of our beloved Ferelden, and in appreciation for your actions, I hereby award you Calenhad's Cross, the highest honor it is my right as queen to bestow." She lifted one of the pendants by its ornate, golden chain and placed it around Arais's neck, fastening it in place. Despite its small size, it settled itself heavily against her chest. "In the name of Calendhad the Great, here in the sight of the Maker, I thank you on behalf of all of Ferelden's citizens for your bravery."

Loghain bowed slightly to allow Anora to place the medallion around his neck. "Thank you, Your Majesty," he said, and straightened his back. Anora smiled up at him, and her eyes glimmered briefly with emotion.

There was a brief round of applause—muted compared to the cacophonous cheering from earlier—as the queen moved to stand beside Loghain and turned, allowing the seneschal to come forward. "Thank you all for joining us on this fine occasion. You are invited to join us for a feast in an hour's time, followed by a grand ball for all to enjoy. The queen hopes to see you all there." He descended the steps rapidly, and disappeared through a door off to the side.

After the seneschal was gone, Anora went down the steps, her father beside her. Loghain seemed far removed from his usual, brooding demeanor, and the pride that shone bright in his blue eyes was mirrored in the small smile he wore as he looked at his daughter. Still, the lines that creased his forehead suggested he was a bit distracted, and it was as if something weighed heavily on his shoulders.

She understood the feeling.

Arais followed soon after. Her shoes clicked against the stone steps, and her heart thrummed in her chest. Maker. Two new titles. Not only was she expected to command an undetermined number of Wardens, she was to rule an arling as well? At least she could say she had experience leading men and women into battle, but politics? She shuddered at the thought. Her only experience with politics had been a disastrous affair that had nearly gotten Alistair killed.

Oh. Alistair. She glanced across the room, at the door he had disappeared through, taking with him any assurance she would have of his safety. Perhaps now was the time to take Zevran up on his offer to find him. There was no Blight to threaten them any longer, and assuming Alistair had made it out of Ferelden, there was a good chance he was still alive, somewhere. What she would do if he were found, she wasn't sure, but maybe just taking the first step and actually finding him first was all that was important.

When Arais reached the bottom of the stairs, the pendant's weight settled just above her breasts. She glanced down, and lifted the pendant to examine it. She had found and sold enough gemstones during the Blight to identify those set within. Two garnets, encircled by elaborate wound gold, pointed the setting on either side, and two rubies were set in the same fashion to form a cross. A sapphire was set in the center of the cross, and pearls accented the empty space between the rubies and garnets. It really was lovely, if a bit overwhelming.

Isolde approached her, eyes wide and glazed with tears. "Arais, I . . . I can scarcely believe it. Will I truly be able to see Connor again?"

"As long as the Chantry complies with my request, you should be able to see him in a matter of weeks."

Isolde's resolve broke, and though she breathed deeply and closed her eyes against them, rogue tears slipped down her cheeks. "Oh, thank the Maker." A hesitant smile pulled at her lips, despite the tears. "There is so much he needs to be told, and that I will be able to tell him myself, and in person, means so much." She hugged Arais. "Thank you."

Arais said nothing, opting to simply let the arlessa weep into her shoulder. Moments passed before Teagan stepped up behind Isolde and placed a hand on her arm, a soft smile on his lips as he looked at Arais. The look in his eyes said more than words could of his gratitude, and she felt the wetness in her own eyes.

They were why she had asked for this, and it warmed her heart to know, for now, they were happy.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to HereBeDragons for allowing me to use her head canon for the coronation and Calenhad's Cross. Both were featured in her story, Unshaken by the Darkness, which y'all should be reading.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Blight is over, and the coronation is fast approaching. As Arais fulfills a promise she made to a family whom the Maker had graciously brought into her life, she finds herself faced with so much change, and many of those changes she must make herself. My entry for the Dragon Age Big Bang on tumblr and Live Journal.

The celebratory atmosphere had carried its way to the feast, and Arais was hardly able to hear herself think. She managed conversation with those who sat near her, and Zevran had jokingly remarked on his being the sole elf at a table crowded with human nobles who seemed to not question his presence. Indeed, they all still seemed to be engrossed by Sten's presence, who more than once had deflected unwanted questions with a fearsome glare, which had more than one noble shifting their seats ever-so-slightly away from the Qunari.

Now, she stood in the grand ballroom, chatting amiably with Anora and Isolde about the Circle and how the Chantry might react to being turned on its head. Occasionally, a passing pair of nobles would slow to stare at Isolde, and they would point and begin to whisper among themselves. By the fourth time this happened, the arlessa became visibly stricken, and her shoulders tensed.

"Is something the matter, Isolde?" Anora asked.

"I had hoped that the busybodies would not be so quick to spread news of what happened, but it seems it was a foolish hope." Both Anora and Arais gave her curious looks, and she sighed. "It is likely they are whispering about my marriage to Eamon. I had many of my things moved from Redcliffe castle to the estate in Denerim." Again, the two other women simply stared. Arais would have assumed the gossip would be about Connor's magic, but it seemed she would be wrong. "I am leaving my husband."

Anora's hand moved to her mouth, and something seemed to register for her, though Arais could hardly guess as to what.

"When did you decide this?" Arais asked, though she already had her suspicions.

"Not long after you and I spoke about his behavior, I talked to Teagan. He has been a good friend through the events that transpired after Connor's magic was discovered, and I knew I could trust him to be honest. I asked him what he thought of Eamon's behavior, and if he thought Eamon would ever come to understand what I did was because I thought it best for my son."

"What did he say?" Anora's voice was threaded with concern, yet still, she didn't sound nearly as surprised as she could have been.

"Enough for me to decide that my marriage to Eamon would likely never recover." Her eyes were glossy, but she blinked back the tears. "I told not a soul of my intentions, so I haven't the slightest idea how anyone might have found out. But I suppose moving my things, coupled with Eamon's absence from the coronation, was enough for the gossips to make up their minds."

"If you believe it is best for you, then I will support you in any way I can," Anora said, taking Isolde's hand. "You can even stay in the royal palace, if you would prefer to be completely separated from Eamon and the servants he keeps at the Redcliffe Estate."

"I appreciate the offer, Your Highness, but I've brought the few servants I trust from Redcliffe and relieved all others of their duties, for the time being." She sighed. "As for what will happen once the divorce has been settled, I will . . . Well, there will be time to think about that later."

They fell silent, and Arais's mind went wild. She could hardly believe that her conversation with Isolde would lead to this, of all things, but at the same time, it made sense. If Eamon was so short with Isolde while in the presence of others, Arais could only imagine just how bad he might have been when it was just the two of them.

Yes, this was probably the best thing for Isolde.

Another small group of nobles made their way past the three women, and again, they slowed to stare at Isolde. Knowing now what led to their behavior, Arais became upset, but said nothing.

"Excuse me," Anora said abruptly, and the group stopped, surprised. She dropped Isolde's hand, and gestured vaguely before her. "Is there something you need?"

"Ah, n-no, Your Highness," a man with a receding hairline and sharp, black eyes stammered. "We were just—"

"Sticking your nose where it doesn't belong?" the queen interjected.

A woman with dark brown hair streaked with gray and a long, hooked nose glanced at Isolde, and stuck out her chin indignantly. "We have no idea of what you are speaking, milady."

"I suspect you do." Anora stepped closer to the nobles, her expression severe. "You presume to gossip about a woman who has done nothing to earn your ire. I strongly suggest you desist, and find more agreeable topics of conversation." She lifted her chin. "Either that, or you can remove yourselves from the castle immediately."

The woman looked deeply offended, but a man with silver hair and light blue eyes nodded quickly. "Of course, Your Majesty. We apologize for the offense."

"Your apology is appreciated. If you could inform the other nobles who insist on engaging in such behavior of the consequences, should they continue, I would be exceedingly grateful." She motioned for them to leave, and they hurried off.

"Thank you, Your Highness."

"If it's all the same to you, I would rather you call me Anora." She smiled. "I hardly think formalities are necessary among friends, wouldn't you agree?"

Isolde smiled, though the way her eyes widened betrayed her surprise. "Indeed, I would."

"Well, that was certainly an interesting display." Loghain smirked at his daughter as he approached, and nodded his approval. He wore a gray tunic embroidered with dark blue at the cuffs, with trousers to match the embroidery. "Bann Esmerelle never has been one to take being talked down to well, even by higher ranked nobility."

"Then she should learn to be less offensive," Anora said with a laugh. "I never did like her."

"Nor I," Isolde chimed in, though she was clearly tense. No doubt being around the man who had her husband—now ex-husband, apparently—poisoned wasn't easy. "She would always ignore my presence, even while talking to Eamon as I stood right beside him. I'm sure it's because I am Orlesian—I never gave her reason to dislike me, otherwise."

"We all have our prejudices," Loghain said solemnly. "Some are not as easily convinced that they won't always be justified." He made eye contact with the arlessa, and Arais could see the apology in his eyes. Whether it was for what he had done to Eamon, or his own personal prejudice against the Orlesians, she couldn't be sure, but it was significant, regardless.

Isolde nodded to him, but said nothing in reply.

After a brief silence, Loghain turned to Arais. "Can I speak with you, privately?"

She nodded, and excused herself. When they were out of earshot of Anora and Isolde, she asked, "Is something wrong?"

"No, I just have some advice." He gestured subtly to the woman with the hooked nose. "You'll want to watch out for Bann Esmerelle. She's the bann of Amaranthine City, and one of Howe's former allies. I strongly suspect she will lose a lot of clout now that his family has been deposed, and will fight tooth and nail to get it back. And she is a force to be reckoned with on the political battleground."

"I appreciate the warning." She furrowed her brows. He made it sound as if this would be something she would have to deal with on her own. "Won't you be coming with me to Amaranthine? You're the only other Warden in Ferelden."

"I'm afraid not," he replied. "A message from the Chamberlain has informed me that I will be stationed in Montsimmard, as soon as reinforcements from Weisshaupt arrive. It seems I cannot be trusted to remain in Ferelden—they believe I will interfere."

"So they send you to Orlais?" Arais was puzzled. "That seems a little extreme."

"I can't say I blame them, personally." He shrugged. "As it is, I am confident that I'm leaving Ferelden in good hands"—he bowed his head—"Commander. It has been an honor to serve with you, these past months."

Arais frowned. "Does Anora know, yet?"

"I haven't had the opportunity to tell her. I think it would be best to wait until after the coronation; there's no sense in dampening her spirits when she should be celebrating." He motioned toward where Anora stood, chatting amiably with a man with medium length brown hair and a handsome grin. "Perhaps we should rejoin them?"

Arais nodded, and followed Loghain. Anora was caught up in her conversation, and it was Isolde who noticed them approach. "Fergus, have you met the Warden-Commander?"

The man who had been speaking with Anora turned to Arais. "No, I have not, though I have been eager to do so." He bowed his head in greeting. "Fergus Cousland."

"Arais Amell," she replied, and she bowed her head, as well. "A pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine, Commander." Though he smiled, his eyes were pained. "Now may not be the most appropriate timing for this, but I cannot pass up the chance to thank you."

"Thank me?"

"Fergus is the Teyrn of Highever." Anora placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "Rendon Howe was responsible for the deaths of the Cousland family."

"I only survived because I had left for Ostagar before Howe's troops arrived. I didn't even learn of what had happened until many months later. I was nearly killed, and a tribe of Chasind took me in until I could recover from my injuries. " His jaw visibly clenched. "I returned to Highever, only to be told by a villager that my parents, my wife, and my child . . . were all dead and Howe had usurped the teyrnir. The villager hid me until nightfall, so I could escape unseen. Not long after, I heard rumors from Denerim that Howe was dead, and the darkspawn were marching on the capital.

"A great many of us owe you, Commander. If ever you need allies, the troops at Highever will be at your disposal."

Arais nodded, but had no idea what to say in response. She had heard rumors of a noble family that had been murdered, but she had forgotten the name, and any efforts to inquire into the affair were swiftly brushed aside. It made sense now that they were only protecting themselves from the same thing happening to them—Maker only knew what Rendon Howe had been willing to do for the sake of a title.

"Your Majesty." The seneschal approached the queen, his hands clasped at his back. "Shall I ask the minstrels to begin playing?"

"Of course, Einsley."

The seneschal left to seek out the musicians, and Fergus turned to Anora almost immediately. "Milady?" he said, holding out his hand to the queen. She chuckled, and her cheeks turned pink as she placed her hand in his, and he led her into the center of the room. The music started—a quick, lively tune—and they moved gracefully together across the floor. Soon, other couples began to trickle onto the dance floor.

The dance was slow and elegant, and, despite the large number of couples on the dance floor, each pair glided along effortlessly. Just as they seemed to come too close to another couple, and would collide, they spun out of harm's way. It was complex and intricate, and as Arais watched, anxiety gripped her.

Maker, she hoped no one asked her to dance.

She excused herself from Isolde and Loghain, who stood silently and watched the couples dance. Arais wondered briefly if they would be all right, considering the circumstances. If there truly was a problem, though, neither was the type to cause a scene, so she was certain any emotional outbursts would be kept in check.

She gazed around the room, but couldn't spot a single, familiar face among the crowd. Finally, as she pushed toward the door, she saw Sten, Oghren, and Zevran engaged in conversation.

"Oh, thank the Maker."

"Are you all right?" Zevran asked, though he seemed more amused by her declaration than concerned. "Trying to escape unwanted suitors?"

"No, that's not it." She sidled up beside Zevran, out of eyeshot of most of the nobles. His hand came to rest on the small of her back, and she could feel his fingers brush along her spine through the silk of her dress. "I'm just . . . not much of a dancer. I'd rather not be asked and embarrass myself by either saying no or failing miserably." She glanced back at Isolde to see the arless was being led to the dance floor by Teagan. He wore formal attire in the colors she had seen on the Redcliffe heraldry, and he looked . . .

Her breath caught in her throat, and she looked away, cheeks flushed.

"Dancing is not so hard. I could show you, if you like?" Zevran lifted an eyebrow when she turned her attention to him. Had he caught her staring? "I'm certain you will do splendidly."

She wanted to say no, but this was Zevran. If she were terrible, he would be the last person to hold it against her.

"Okay." She took the hand he offered, and followed him to where the nobles wove among one another. "I warn you, though, I'm not very coordinated."

"Considering how gracefully you twirl your staff when you cast a spell, I find that rather hard to believe." He squeezed them into the crowd of nobles on the dance floor, between two couples Arais didn't recognize at all. How many nobles were there in Ferelden, anyway? There hadn't been this many at the Landsmeet.

"Magic is more about concentration and focus, and being quick about it. After a while, the staff practically moves itself."

She tripped over her own foot and stumbled forward, but Zevran caught her. "Dancing is not much different."

He cringed when she stepped forward too soon, onto his booted foot. "Sorry!"

"Arais, you need to relax. And let me lead"—he gave her a sly smile—"just this once. Don't look down, keep your eyes on mine. Trust me."

She nodded and forced her gaze to his; there was a dullness cast over the good humor there. He spun her about the dance floor, and, occasionally, lifted her when prompted. The longer they moved together, the more she began to feel the tension release. Every once in a while, she would lose her footing, but it became less noticeable. She was by no means an expert, but by the end of their second dance, she was beginning to get the hang of . . . well, not hurting him.

As the musicians began to play again, her mind meandered back to the coronation, and reminded her of a thought she'd had. "Zevran, do you remember the conversation we had after the Landsmeet?"

"Quite well, yes." He lifted his brows, curious. "What about it?"

"You know how I said I would think about your offer? To find Alistair?" She looked down, and took a breath. "I think now would be a good time to do so. If you still think it's a good idea?"

"Of course." He eyed her, and there was concern in his amber eyes, accompanied by an odd sort of sadness. "What brought this about, if you don't mind my asking?"

Teagan spun past with Isolde, and both seemed to be enjoying themselves. She watched until they were out of earshot. "Closure, perhaps. If he's alive, he might be willing to return to the Wardens. I really don't know."

"I will get in touch with my contacts as soon as I possibly can," he said.

She studied his face, and she felt frustration bubble in her chest at the melancholy his eyes held. There was something else there, something she couldn’t discern. He was still so adept at keeping the true depths of what he was feeling from her, and she gently pursed her lips together.

The song ended, and they applauded along with the other couples. "Is this truly what you wish?" he asked, his head tilted ever-so-slightly.

"It is." Before the minstrels could strike up another song, she pulled him off the dance floor. "I think that's enough dancing for now."

"If you say so," he laughed.

"I do." They exchanged a significant look, and she hugged him. "Thank you, Zevran."

He nodded, and she sensed him hesitate before he stepped back. "And may I say how quickly you improved as a dancer? Though you look so lovely tonight, it would surprise me if any man even noticed you step on his foot while he danced with you."

She blushed, and turned to the Qunari. His mouth was set in a line much thinner than was usual, and he seemed contemplative. "Is there something on your mind, Sten?"

"These people . . . they call you 'hero.'" He looked down at her. "But I think I understand its meaning. The arishok on occasion has declared a Qunari to be qunoran vehl, one who serves as an example to others. Such examples are always made after their death, however; a death in service to the Qun. A living qunoran vehl would be too proud."

"That sounds like the paragons," Oghren said. "Except we name paragons for what they do in life, too. Branka invented a smokeless coal when she had barely come of age. Saved a lot of lives with that."

"Then you understand what I mean when I say they become too proud."

Oghren puffed up indignantly, but Arais interjected before he could speak. "Do the Qunari celebrate these qunoran vehl?" she asked.

"When one is declared, certainly. It is one of few occasions when the Qunari are permitted to engage in . . . revelry. There is imbibing of spirits, public chanting, meditations abandoned . . ." He almost smiled, and just the slightest amount of mirth threaded into his voice. "It is madness."

"That sounds like quite a sight," Zevran remarked, a smirk playing on his lips.

"It is . . . interesting. It can take days for the Ben-Hassrath to restore order. There may even be executions."

"And that sounds more like the Qunari." Sten gave Zevran an intimidating look, and Zevran held up his hands. "Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to offend."

Sten harrumphed, and focused on Arais. "I suppose I should tell you . . . I have decided to return to my people. Your quest is done, and thus so is my reason for accompanying you."

"And here I was just starting to get used to you."

Arais choked back a laugh. "Zevran!" she cried.

Zevran shrugged. "It is the truth."

"You're impossible," she said, and turned back to Sten. "That will be a long trip home, won't it?"

"Yes. It will be difficult to travel alone after so much time spent with companions."

"I could go with you," Zevran suggested, and Sten wrinkled his brow, bemused. "No, really. I will likely be headed that way myself, and it will be tedious doing all of that traveling by myself." He winked at Arais, and she forced herself not to roll her eyes. He really was impossible.

"If I were to say no, would you pester me about it for the rest of the evening?" the Qunari asked.

"That is very likely, yes."

"Then you may join me." Sten shot him a menacing glare. "But I will throw you overboard if you insist on talking the entire trip."

Zevran nodded, a mock-serious look on his face. "Duly noted."

Arais couldn't help but laugh at the exchange. For a moment, it seemed as though Sten's expression softened just the slightest bit, but that could easily have been her imagination. Still, he didn't come off quite as disgruntled as he normally did, and she wondered if he was truly as loathe to travel with Zevran as he presented himself to be.

They continued to speak among themselves, and Zevran filled Sten in on his plan to return to the Pearl where they had met Isabela, to investigate a personal matter before they departed from Denerim. Oghren told them the news of his commission with the Fereldan army. That a dwarf was to join the ranks of humans as something other than a mascot came as a surprise to him, but he seemed to find a greater purpose in the idea of fighting under a banner again, even if it was a human one. Perhaps that was why he seemed less belligerently drunk than usual—he was still rowdier than most of the others who were drinking, but the fact that he was still standing so many hours later said much.

Zevran looked over Arais' shoulder some time later, and he smirked. "It seems you will no longer be able to outrun those suitors, _carina_." She cast a glance behind her, and when she saw Teagan approaching, her cheeks immediately began to burn. "My, my, are you blushing, Arais?"

"Quiet, Zevran," she snapped, though her hand reached up to touch her cheek.

A knowing smile played on Zevran's lips, though again, it did not quite reach his eyes. "Hello, Bann Teagan," he said, and bowed.

"Zevran." Teagan stepped up beside Arais and returned the bow, and nodded to the others in turn. Oghren grunted, though somehow he managed to make it sound polite, and Sten simply stared. Neither seemed to faze Teagan in the slightest. "I trust you all are enjoying yourselves?"

"Of course," Arais said, possibly too quickly, and she dropped her hand to her side; she would draw attention to her face if she did not.

"Indeed." Zevran folded his arms across his chest. "I taught our lovely Warden Commander how to dance, which was an interesting experience. One I would definitely suggest, should you be so inclined."

Arais stared at him, wide-eyed.

"It seems you come highly recommended as a partner," Teagan said, and turned to her. "Would you care to dance?"

"I—yes. Of course." She took the hand he offered, and as they walked to the dance floor, she cast a glare back at Zevran.

All he did was wink and mouth the word "relax" in response.

"Is something the matter?" Teagan asked as they reached the dance floor.

"No, no, everything is fine." Just a meddlesome elf sticking his nose where it doesn't belong, she added silently. "Have you been having a good time?" she asked in an attempt to take the focus off of her.

"In all honesty, it has been difficult to focus on the festivities."

She furrowed her brow and frowned. "I suppose it's my turn to ask if something is wrong?"

"Not at all. Quite the opposite, in fact." He smiled. "I'm simply relieved at the prospect of seeing Connor again."

"Of course."

The minstrels began to play, a slower song than she was expecting. He took one of her hands in his, and the other firmly held her waist; she could feel the warmth of his palm through the layers of silk, and immediately the blood rushed to her cheeks.

"I am sure you've heard more than your fair share of thank yous this evening," he began, "but I hope you'll allow me just one more. For giving Isolde something to truly celebrate. Life has not been kind to her, as of late."

"Yes, she told Anora and I about Eamon." Arais looked down for a moment, and when she spoke, her voice was low, to avoid being overheard. "To be honest, I'm not wholly surprised. She came to me the morning after I arrived in Redcliffe to apologize for his behavior, and she just seemed so unhappy."

"This has been a long time coming, there is no doubt about that," he agreed, his voice equally low. "I just wish my brother had been able to see reason." They were silent for a moment. "For someone who just recently learned to dance, you're quite good at it," he said, and he spun her once before she was able to face him, his hand returning to her waist.

She laughed. "Hardly. You're lucky, though. It's a wonder Zevran isn't limping, for all the times I stepped on his feet."

"We have all experienced the agony of teaching, and the embarrassment of learning." The song ended, and they applauded. It seemed almost tedious, having to clap for the end of every song, but no one seemed to mind. "If it's any consolation, you are far better than I was, at first. You joke, but my poor sister could hardly walk after my first few lessons. Rowan was a wonderful teacher, though."

"I can tell," she said, unthinkingly, and hurried to cover herself. "You don't talk about your sister very much."

"I suppose I don't. It has been many years since she passed." Another song began, faster this time, and they fell into the step easily. He really was an incredible partner. "Our father was killed during the Occupation, and I spent most of my childhood in the Free Marches with Eamon. He left as soon as he turned eighteen to join the fight, and I was left with no word of what had happened to either my brother or my sister.

"After the Orlesians were driven out, Rowan brought me back to Ferelden and raised me at court. Eamon was barely eighteen, and not ready to be arl by any stretch of the imagination, so she was responsible for both helping Eamon with Redcliffe and helping Maric with matters of the crown. And there was also the controversy surrounding Eamon's marriage to Isolde barely a year later, for which she took a lot of grief.

"She was a powerhouse, and handled it with all the grace of a proper queen. Sometimes I wonder, though, if all she was forced to deal with was what led to the rapid decline in her health. I had just been named bann of Rainesfere when she passed away." His eyes grew distant, and he nearly missed the timing for a lift.

They were silent for the remainder of the dance, and when the music faded, neither applauded. Rather, they left the dance floor, and he led her into the hall, and outside into the garden. The chill in the air was kept at bay by a number of fires lit along the pathways, though it was a wonder nothing caught fire. Perhaps there were protective enchantments; she hardly knew for sure one way or the other, though she felt the tingle of magic on the edge of her consciousness.

She soon recognized the path he was taking through the garden. A moment later, she stood before the small opening in the hedges. He ducked to climb through and held back the low branches as he had so many months ago, and she smiled at the memory as she stepped through herself. She took his arm, and they walked into the courtyard, the flowers as overwhelming fragrant as she remembered.

"I apologize." Teagan stopped before the fountain and turned to face her. A frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Talking about my sister is still not easy."

"There's no need to apologize—I understand," Arais said, her voice soft, and she squeezed his hand to offer comfort. "Your sister must have been an incredible woman."

"She was. In a lot of ways, you remind me of her." He was quiet, his eyes contemplative. "Do you have any siblings?"

"I do—a sister and a brother."

"What are they like?" he asked, and his tone suggested he was genuinely curious.

"They're twins, and both mages, like myself." She inhaled deeply, and the crisp scent of late fall set her at ease. "They were barely four years old when I was taken away, but I remember Seona being a troublemaker: the opposite of Ayden, actually. He was always very quiet, and kept to himself more often than not."

"You said they were mages—do you know where they were taken?"

"I do, but only from letters from my parents. They were nobles, and likely found a way to send them in secret, though I suspect Thrask had something to do with it." She paused. It was remarkably easy to speak of her siblings with Teagan; not nearly as upsetting as she had found it to be in the past. "Seona is in Starkhaven, and Ayden in Ostwick." She stared beyond him into the garden, at nothing in particular. "Perhaps I can visit them, one day, now that I'm free to leave, but with all the new responsibilities I've been given, I don't know if that would even be possible."

He reached up to tuck a strand of hair that had fallen loose from the pins behind her ear. "There will be time for that, if you wish it. Nobles are not confined to their lands until a Landsmeet is called, after all."

"That—That isn't what I meant," she said. "I only meant that I'm going to need time to adjust, and Maker only knows how long that will take. I don't know the first thing about being an arlessa."

"Anora will likely appoint you a seneschal to assist you in political matters." He took her hand. "But, if you would be more comfortable, I would be more than glad to help."

She gave him the tiniest smile. "I appreciate the offer, but didn't you say Eamon might be stepping down as arl?"

"I did, indeed." He pursed his lips, though his eyes showed it wasn't so much out of annoyance as it was out of . . . something she couldn't quite put her finger on. Frustration, maybe? She wasn't sure. "And, not long after Isolde decided to leave, he made the decision final. Anora knows Eamon is stepping down, but is keeping it from the other nobles until Eamon is ready to announce it officially."

"Did he not think his reputation would recover, if Isolde left him?"

"Very likely, that is the case." That explained why Anora wasn't entirely surprised by Isolde's revelation. "As I said, Eamon's choice of bride was never well received, and he only recovered as well as he did because Isolde turned out to be popular with the people."

Again, she took his hand. "Are you okay with all of this? You seem worried."

"I was prepared for becoming arl one day. Eamon has not been well, as I told you, and this was already discussed at great length." He sighed. "But I don't know how well he will take all of this, once it settles in that his wife left him and he will have limited access to his son."

She found it difficult to feel any sympathy for Eamon, but, for Teagan's sake, she tried. "Perhaps being able to see Connor at all will offer him a sort of comfort?"

"I can only hope it will."

There was a long silence between them. "For what it's worth," she began, slowly, as she tried to find the right words, "you have done enough to help me in the past year that I truly believe you will figure out a way to help Eamon through his struggles. I have seen how you inspire hope in the people under your brother's rule, and I wouldn't have been able to get through that last night before we marched on Denerim if it hadn't been for you." She touched the tips of her fingers to his cheek, a soft smile on her lips. "There isn't a doubt in my mind that you will do the same for your brother."

The corners of his lips twitched upward. "You make it sound incredibly easy."

"Something I learned from you, I expect." Her hand slid down to his chest, and her fingers toyed with his collar. "I do believe it's the truth, though. How could I not? There were a number of things you gave me hope for that night. You didn't just give me the motivation to do what needed to be done to stop the Blight; you helped me feel again. I thought Alistair had taken my heart with him when he left, but . . ." She could feel the tears burning behind her eyes, and she blinked furiously to keep them at bay. "But you showed me that it was still with me, and that I would be free to give it again when I was ready."

"Arais, I . . . had no idea of the extent of your relationship with Alistair. I knew you were close—I could see as much when we first met—but that you were involved romantically never occurred to me."

"We never spoke of it, and even kept it from Eamon. The only person who knew about it outside the companions we traveled with throughout the Blight was Anora, and that's only because she just . . . knew, when we spoke before the Landsmeet. But that hasn't been an issue for a while, now. Like I said, my heart no longer belongs to him.

"Do you remember when you escorted me to my room, the night before we left Redcliffe?" He nodded, but said nothing, and simply allowed her to speak. She shivered as a breeze whispered past. "There was a moment, one that I can never seem to let go, when I thought you might kiss me again; that we might continue what had started in the kitchens. But it didn't, and you left, and at the time, I decided that it was for the best. And, in hindsight, I still think so. It wasn't the right time then, or when I was recovering after the archdemon was slain.” Her cheeks burned as another memory pushed itself forward. “Nor was it the right time when I visited in Harvestmere. Losing Alistair was still too fresh, too painful, and it wouldn't have been fair to you."

Again, he remained silent, and she pressed on. "But . . . I still regret that I didn't stop you from going, that we were interrupted that day, as selfish as it might have been. It's possible it still hasn't been long enough, but I know what I feel. I love you, and if I've learned nothing else this year, it's that time is precious. Every moment could be my last, and I shouldn't waste it." She thought of all she had learned today alone. "I'm an arlessa now. It may not be something I'm prepared for, and it may not even be something I truly want, but it means something so much more than a title and land and power to me." She reached out and took his hand, holding it as firmly as he had hers while they danced. "It means I can give you my heart, without complications, and without my magic being the problem it might have been otherwise."

There was a brief moment where she simply stared at their joined hands, waiting for him to say something, anything. Another breeze, another shiver, and just as she began to think that he wouldn't speak, he touched a finger to her chin, and she met his eyes.

"I love you, too," he whispered before he leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her lips. She stepped closer, and her lips moved over his. His hand slid to the back of her neck, and tangled in the hair that hung loose at her back, and his other found the small of her back. It felt so wonderful, so right, and she wove her arms about his waist, pulling him closer to her. His warmth enveloped her so completely, and there was comfort in the feeling of his body flush against hers.

She pulled away - just enough to meet his eyes - and she could feel the nerves bubbling in the pit of her stomach. "Come to my quarters tonight."

His eyes searched her face. "Are you certain this is what you want?"

"I've never been more sure of anything." Despite her ever-present self-consciousness, she held his gaze. She wanted this, more than she'd wanted anything else. "Will you come?"

"There is nothing I could possibly want more." His hands came up to cup her cheeks, and he kissed her, an urgent meeting of the lips that left her breathless. When he pulled away, he leaned his forehead against hers. "How will I find you?"

She thought for a moment, and remembered the only thing she still carried from the Blight. "I can leave a rose on the torch holder just outside my room."

He nodded, and looked back toward the entrance to the royal estate. "I expect our absence has been noticed, by now."

"You're right." She stepped back, and used her thumb to brush away the lip paint that had transferred to his lips. "Perhaps we should go in separately, so as not to draw attention to ourselves?"

He nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips, and walked beside her in silence until they stood outside the ballroom. He allowed her to enter first, and they parted ways. She wove through the crowd until she found her companions, now joined by Leliana. The bard looked flushed, and Arais suspected that her friend had not been without a dance partner for the whole of the evening.

"Arais!" A wide smile crinkled the corners of Leliana's eyes. "Where have you been?"

"I was speaking with Bann Teagan, about his nephew," she lied.

Zevran smirked. "I suspect you were doing more than talking, dear Warden." He gestured to her face. "Your lip paint is smudged."

Her cheeks flamed, and she touched a finger to her lips. "Oh, Maker." She turned to Leliana. "Is it really that obvious?"

"It is hardly as noticeable as Zevran implies." The bard eyed Zevran, annoyed, and took Arais' hand. "Come, I can fix it for you."

They left the group and exited the room, and made their way quickly to the guest wing of the castle. Once in her room, Leliana had Arais sit at the vanity, and knelt to go through the drawer to find the lip paint.

As she used a handkerchief to wipe away the smudges, she glanced up at Arais with shameless curiosity. "So, you and Teagan? When did this happen?"

"I—Well, right before the march on Denerim, actually. There were moments since, but I never thought . . . well, before today, it was probable our relationship would not have lasted." She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks again, and told Leliana about her conversation with Teagan, and the decisions she had made regarding their relationship. "I invited him to come back to my room tonight, after the ball."

"Ooh, scandalous!" Leliana said with a sly smile, and lifted the brush to apply fresh paint to Arais's lips. "In all honesty, though, I am glad to hear it. You were so distraught after the Landsmeet. It is good to know you have found someone who will make you happy." She swiped the brush along Arais's bottom lip once last time, and put the makeup away. "There. Much better."

"Thank you, Leliana."

"It was no trouble." She rose to her feet. "Now, let's get back to the festivities. And if you find you need anymore . . . touchups, you know where to find me."

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Blight is over, and the coronation is fast approaching. As Arais fulfills a promise she made to a family whom the Maker had graciously brought into her life, she finds herself faced with so much change, and many of those changes she must make herself. My entry for the Dragon Age Big Bang on tumblr and Live Journal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW. You have been warned.

The dressing gown Arais wore offered little protection against the chill in the castle. Still, she was flushed, her heart thrumming in her chest as she waited. The flames licked and spit as they danced merrily in the hearth, and she watched them, reminded of that night many months ago. Tonight would be different, though. The anticipation knotted her stomach, and she walked to the bed—already turned down for the evening—and sat, wringing her hands. There was a soft knock, barely audible, and she stood quickly, nearly tripping on the hem of her robe.

When she opened the door, Teagan stood with the rose in his hand, wearing a simple tunic and trousers. He handed the flower to her. "Is that a dried rose?" he asked with simple curiosity, and closed the door behind him as he stepped into the room.

"I—Yes it is. It was a gift, from Alistair." She looked at him, and determination fueled her next words. "I don't know why I held onto it for as long as I have, but I decided that I would make use of it one last time before I got rid of it." She walked to the fire. After one last look at the rose that she had kept for almost a year—a constant reminder of a man who had given her so much, and then taken it away—she tossed it into the flames, and stared as the petals blackened and turned to ash.

Teagan placed a hand on her shoulder, and turned her to face him. His eyes were filled with concern. "Are you all right?"

"Yes." She smiled, a smile more genuine than she could remember giving in a very long time. "I'm more than all right."

She leaned up and kissed him, slowly, but without hesitation. His rough beard contrasted with the softness of his lips, and heat bloomed within her as his tongue swept along her bottom lip. She relaxed against him, and she could taste the cinnamon and cloves that were so uniquely Teagan when her tongue slid against his. His hands slid to her back and pulled her close to him, and she moved hers to his shoulders, urging him backward until his back hit the wall. She pressed against him, and the dressing gown was so thin, she could feel the hardness of his body against hers.

The rumble of a groan tickled her lips, and she almost laughed, but before she could react he had turned them so her back was up against the wall. The stone was cool through the fabric of her gown, and she inhaled sharply at the warmth of his lips at her throat. He pushed the robe down past her shoulder, and nipped at the sensitive flesh of her neck. Warmth pooled in her belly, and her nails dug into his chest when he pressed himself against her and she felt his arousal hard against her stomach.

His hands slid down to her backside, and she gasped with surprise. The top of her gown slipped down even further, past her breasts, as he lifted her off the floor. She sought his lips and kissed him, and her hands tangled in his hair, insistent that he be closer. The soft cotton of his shirt brushed against her nipples and teased them into hard points. Her breath came faster as she bit down lightly on his bottom lip. He pushed her harder into the wall, his length pressing against her through his trousers, and his hand came up to cup her breast. His thumb flicked over her nipple, sending pleasure shooting through her. She moaned into his lips.

His hand moved around to her back. He held her tight against him as he carried her to the bed and laid her down, gentle despite his firm grip on her flesh.

He laid himself down beside her, and his fingers began to work at the tie of her dressing gown. He stopped, and looked into her eyes. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

"Yes." She nudged his hand out of the way to untie the robe herself, and shifted to slip the fabric out from under her and drop it on the floor. He leaned down to kiss her, and her skin rippled where he caressed her hip, her stomach. When he brushed his fingers along the underside of her breast, her whole body shuddered.

His lips moved from hers and left a trail of kisses along her jaw and down her throat, until she felt the warmth of his mouth envelop her nipple, and he sucked gently. She moaned softly. It felt so good. Arais pressed her head back into the pillows and arched her back, her hands absently reaching out to tangle in his hair. He moved over her, pressing his knee between her legs, and his lips moved to kiss between her breasts, and down her stomach. She let out a long sigh as his nails gently scratched along her sides to her hips.

She shuddered as he pressed his lips along her inner thighs and his beard scratched against her skin. When she felt the warmth of his breath at the apex of her thighs, she whimpered, and nearly cried out when his tongue dipped between her folds. Immediately, the tension began to build, slow and intense. A low moan slipped passed her lips when his thumb brushed over her sensitive nub, and she dug her nails into the bedding, pulling and twisting it between her fingers.

Pinpoints of light burst like stars in her eyes as she clenched them shut, and her hips lifted off the bed as she felt the pleasure spread from her belly and set her skin on fire. She hardly noticed Teagan's mouth leave her, nor did she notice him leaning above her until he kissed her, the bittersweet taste of her lingering on his lips. Never before had anything felt so good, so blissfully erotic.

Her limbs felt heavy and nearly immobile as she reached for the hem of his tunic, and pushed it up over his head. She dragged her nails down his chest, to his trousers, and he moaned into her lips when she pushed them past his hips and took his length into her hand. She stroked once, twice, but found it difficult to keep a rhythm when he pressed a single finger into her center, then another. They kissed, their lips moving together desperately, and her free hand gripped the back of his neck, pulling him ever closer. Oh, Maker. She could hardly breathe as he brought her very nearly to the edge once more.

"Teagan," she moaned against his lips. "Teagan, please."

His eyes were dark and hooded as he stared into hers, and he separated himself for only a moment to remove the remainder of his clothing. He positioned himself between her thighs, and he pushed into her slowly, oh so slowly, and his lips found hers as a moan escaped from deep in her chest. He pulled out just the slightest bit, then slid back in, and a new burst of pleasure erupted inside of her. Her head lolled to the side as she whimpered. His lips trailed along her jaw, her throat, and he nipped at her collarbone before soothing it with a kiss.

She turned her head to recapture his lips, and her hand came up to delve into his auburn hair. She gripped his shoulder with her free hand, and braced herself as she rolled him onto his back, not once allowing her lips to leave his. She rolled her hips in tandem with his, and, over and over, he thrust just right, and the tension built so quick and high. She wanted more of him, needed more of him. She leaned back, and he groaned as she took him deeper, so deeply she pushed herself over the edge, a throaty cry slipping past her lips.

Teagan sat up, and his arms came around her and held her to him. Her fingers tangled in his hair, and she pulled his head back, her mouth hungry as it latched onto his. He continued to move within her, drawing out her climax with such exquisite ease. Arais bit into his shoulder to muffle her cries, and his breath came hot and quick on her back. His pace quickened, and he buried his face in the crook of her shoulder, moaning with his release, and his arms tightened around her, as if to bring her just that much closer to him.

When his body relaxed, Teagan's hand came up and gently urged her to face him. He kissed her so tenderly she could feel her heart melt, and she ran a finger along his jaw line.

They stayed like this – Arais had no idea how long – until, after innumerable moments of gentle caresses and soft kisses, he slid out of her and laid her back on the bed, and pulled the blankets over them both. Arais pressed herself against him, and slung her leg across his, her head resting on his chest. He placed a kiss on the top of her head, and a long silence stretched on between them, and the only sound she heard was his heartbeat as it thrummed against her cheek. It felt so good, so  _right_ , to lay with him like this, their bodies as entwined as their lives had become over the past year.

Drowsiness began to settle in, and she propped herself up on an elbow, and he eyed her curiously. "Is something the matter?"

She trailed the tip of her finger along a scratch mark on his chest. "No, nothing, I was just wondering if you might . . . stay here? With me?"

He turned onto his side, and his hand rested on her waist. "If that is what you wish," he said, "then of course." His hand cupped her cheek, and he brushed his thumb along her cheekbone. He looked upon her with reverence, as if he had received a great gift. "You are so beautiful, Arais."

Her cheeks burned hot, and she leaned down to kiss him, unsure of any other way she could respond.

Teagan eased her onto her back, and moved over her, balancing on his forearms. "If I'm to stay the night, wouldn't you agree this would be the perfect opportunity to make up for lost time?"

"Lost time? Whatever do you mean?" She let out a soft laugh, which was cut off sharply when his thumb pressed against her, intimately. "Oh, Maker."

His lips teased the lobe of her ear as he all but whispered, "Shall I take that as yes?"

She turned her head and caught his lips in a deep, longing kiss, and they lost themselves in one another again.

* * *

Arais awoke to the sensation of lips on her throat, soft kisses that trailed up to her jaw. Her eyes fluttered open, and she rolled over, the corners of her lips turned up in lazy grin.

"Morning," she murmured, and Teagan smiled.

"Good morning, milady." He pushed a strand of hair off of her face. "Did you sleep well?"

"Mmm." She leaned up to kiss him, and for a few moments, Arais simply allowed her hands to wander, setting to memory every muscle and curve of his body within reach. A knock at the door forced them apart, and her head fell back into the pillow. Oh, Maker. Had either of them thought to lock the door?

"My lady?" The voice belonged to Nessa, the handmaiden from the previous evening. "Are you awake?"

"Yes," she called.

Arais' heart skipped a beat when the door opened.

"Her Majesty has asked that I . . ." The elven girl froze, and her cheeks darkened deeply. "Maker's breath, I'm so sorry, my lady. I should have asked before coming in."

"It's all right," Arais said, and her own face burned. "Um . . . could you maybe return in ten minutes?"

"Yes, of course." With a brief bow, she hurried out of the room, and the door practically slammed behind her.

"Oh, dear Maker." Arais buried her face in Teagan's chest, and she felt the rumble of his laughter. She looked up at him, her eyes narrowed. "Why are you laughing?"

"I have to say, this is a first for me. In all my years, I have never been walked in on by a servant."

She sat up and rubbed her hands over her face. "What are we going to do? Surely she's going to tell  _someone_?"

"You would be surprised." She looked over at him, an eyebrow raised. "What with Cailan's reputation, the servants have likely learned to be discrete. Even if they were to talk among themselves, there is little chance that word will get to Anora so quickly." He touched a finger to her cheek. "You still seem concerned."

Arais sighed. "I don't know why I am. I had no intentions of hiding this. I just would rather have everyone find out from us."

"They still can, Arais." He slipped out from under the sheets and began to dress. "I assume she came to help you dress for breakfast with the queen." He sat on the edge of the bed, and pulled on his boots. "When she returns, I will go back to my estate and change into something more appropriate, and join you for breakfast."

Now fully clothed, he handed her the dressing gown she had worn. She stood and slipped it on, and secured the tie about her waist. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely." He took her face in his hands and kissed her. "I only planned to keep this to myself for as long as you were comfortable. You were never meant to be a dirty little secret I kept hidden away, not to be seen."

"I . . ." she frowned, and realized just how hurtful it must have been of her to ever think he would do that to her. Or to anyone, for that matter. Maker, but she could be dense, sometimes.

Another knock, and Nessa's voice was soft as she asked, "Is it all right for me to come in, Mistress Amell?"

"Yes, it's fine."

She entered, her cheeks still dark and mottled. "I apologize again."

"Don't concern yourself overmuch," Teagan said. The smile he offered the girl was contrite. "You couldn't have known I was here." He turned to Arais. "I will return shortly."

He bowed to both women, and then left the room.

"Breakfast will be served shortly," Nessa said, and she seemed to have difficulty looking directly at Arais. "Would you like help getting dressed?"

"That isn't necessary, Nessa." Arais smiled, though she wondered if the girl even noticed. "If you could let the queen know that Bann Teagan will be joining us for breakfast, that would be very helpful."

"Of course, mistress," she said, and left the room.

Well, that was awkward.

As she moved to the water basin, she noticed the pleasant soreness with every step. There was little about the night that  _hadn't_  been pleasant, and as she washed her face and cleaned up, she smiled to herself, momentarily forgetting the uncomfortable encounter with Nessa. Something had definitely changed between her and Teagan beyond the obvious, of that she was certain, but where it would lead was anyone's guess. For now, she was content to let their relationship unfold.

She rummaged through the wardrobe and pulled on her robes, and leisurely brushed her hair. As soon as she felt herself to be presentable, she left the guest quarters, and made her way to the dining room. Anxiety weighed heavily in the pit of her stomach, and she wondered exactly what she would say by way of explanation, when the subject of her relationship with Teagan was brought up. She didn't doubt that it would be accepted, but more that it might not have been appropriate to have a guest in the royal estate. She stopped just outside the dining room, and waited for a few moments. Hopefully Teagan would be quick, and she wouldn't have to worry about saying anything at all.

When Arais at last walked through the door, Anora and Loghain were already seated. She was surprised to see Isolde there, as well; Anora must have invited the arlessa during the ball.

"Good morning," Arais said, and took her seat across from the queen at the round table, an empty place setting between herself and Isolde.

"Good morning, Arais." Anora smiled. "Nessa tells me that we are to expect Teagan any moment."

"Yes, I know."

"You know?" Isolde's furrowed brows conveyed her surprise.

"I—yes." She looked down at the table, an assortment of dishes laid out. "Though, if it wouldn't be too much trouble, I would rather wait for Teagan to arrive to explain."

"Wait for me to explain what?" Teagan asked, a warm smile on his face as he entered.

"Arais was just telling us how she knew you would be joining us this morning," Loghain said, and though he acted as if he knew nothing, Arais was sure he suspected. After all, he had walked in on her and Teagan, the night before they left Redcliffe.

Teagan, who had seated himself beside her, looked to Arais. "Would you care to explain, or should I?"

Though she desperately wanted him to be the one to explain, she now felt it to be her responsibility. "I will." She glanced at their three companions, her cheeks warm. "I asked Nessa to tell you all Teagan would be here. She came to my room this morning while he was visiting."

"Judging by the color of the girl's cheeks, I suspect she found him more than just visiting," Loghain quipped.

"Maker's breath, Father," Anora began, and gave Loghain a stern glare, "sometimes you can be so tactless." The queen looked smilingly across the table at both Arais and Teagan. "I, for one, am happy for the both of you. Truly."

"As am I," Isolde said. "Though I've suspected something more than friendship between you two for quite some time." Arais' eyes widened slightly, and she cast a glance at Teagan. He did not seem nearly as surprised as she at Isolde's declaration. Perhaps he had mentioned something to her? Or maybe their interactions at the Redcliffe estate had been less subtle than Arais had thought?

They fell into comfortable conversation as they ate, discussing the coronation and other, less uncomfortable topics than that of Arais and Teagan's relationship. She was surprised at how quickly the situation had been resolved, and with so little awkwardness. Teagan seemed completely unfazed, and occasionally, Arais glanced over at him, and would catch him looking at her as well. A small smile spread across her face.

"Excuse me, Your Majesty," a young boy said from the doorway. "I have a message from the Chantry for the Warden-Commander."

Isolde's expression crumpled into a mask of anxiety, and Arais felt her own heart sink into her stomach as her smile disappeared. There was no doubt this had to do with her request; indeed, she hadn't expected this to go unanswered by the Grand Cleric. But still, she had hoped she would have more time to prepare.

The boy handed her the letter, and, fingers shaking, she broke the seal and read the contents.

_Warden Amell,_

_You have put me in an awkward position. While I do not believe you have the authority to dictate how the Chantry handles the templars, your request that mages be given the right to see their families is not so simple to cast aside._

_This is far from over, but you will not have to contend with the Chantry regarding visitation, at present. Word has been sent to the Knight Commander that he must comply with your request. It will be left to the mages to contact their families, however._

_Grand Cleric Elemena_

She reread the letter once, and again. Maker's breath.

"What does it say?" Isolde asked, her voice strained; she seemed to be holding back tears.

She took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "The Grand Cleric, as I expected, was not happy with my request."

"She made no attempt to hide her disdain, from what I recall," Loghain said, and Arais nodded.

"I saw her face. I knew she would not let this go without giving her opinion on the matter." Arais looked to Teagan, and then settled her attention on Isolde. "She insists she will contest my request, eventually, but for now . . . she's allowing it. You will still be able to visit Connor, and sooner than I originally expected—she has already sent word to Greagoir that he has to comply, for now."

The reaction was immediate: Isolde slumped in her seat, and covered her mouth to muffle a choked sob. Anora was at the other woman's side in an instant, and rested on the arm of the chair as she placed her hand on Isolde's shoulder. Isolde turned, and her arms wrapped tight around the queen. Not far behind, Teagan held his sister-in-law's hand, and Arais was only a little surprised to see his own eyes shine with emotion. Drawn by her need to comfort, she moved to stand beside him, and squeezed his hand gently.

When Isolde began to regain her composure, she looked up at Arais. "When could we go to the Circle? To see Connor?"

"Realistically?" She thought for a moment. "We could leave today, before the winter truly settles in. We would arrive in just over a fortnight, weather permitting."

Isolde nodded, and wiped at her eyes with her sleeve as she stood. "Then we will leave as soon as possible."

"Eamon needs to be told, Isolde," Teagan insisted, with a passing glance at Arais. "Connor is his son; he has a right to know."

Isolde looked conflicted, and when she spoke, her voice was tense. "You are right, of course. It shouldn't take very much longer to go to Redcliffe, first. It would be better to tell him of this in person." She bowed to Anora. "Now, if you will excuse me, I must go make the necessary arrangements. Thank you for having me."

"Of course, Isolde." Anora took the older woman's hand. "Please, let me know when you return to Denerim."

"I will." Isolde smiled, though it seemed almost forced, and then left the room in a hurry.

"I should go, as well," Teagan said, and turned to Arais. "We will meet you outside the palace, when we are ready." He leaned in to kiss her on the cheek, and whispered, "Thank you," before excusing himself.

Loghain, who had watched everything unfold from his seat, now stood beside Anora. He smirked at Arais. "Leave it to you to manage the impossible, even now." Arais cocked a brow, and he shrugged. "I believe the Grand Cleric is intimidated by your newfound political advantage. You are the Hero of Ferelden, friend of not only the queen, but also a number of nobles whom you helped during the Blight. The Guerrins included, and it is no longer a secret that Connor was brought to Kinloch Hold. It would be quite a risk to completely deny your request, with so much to contend with."

Arais shook her head and sighed. "Regardless, Elemena seems intent on fighting this, when she feels she can."

"Then she will have to go through me," Anora said, her voice firm. "As my father said, you are my friend, and a friend to Ferelden. There is a very good chance she does not expect me to defy her, but I will, if that becomes necessary. That they still believe mages should be locked up after all you have done for Ferelden is ridiculous."

"It has been this way for centuries, Anora," Loghain said. "However, if anyone could stop her, it would be the two of you. You are both too stubborn for your own good, sometimes."

Anora stared at him, her eyes chastising. "Thank you for the vote of confidence, Father." She looked to Arais. "Will you need help preparing for your travels?"

"I appreciate the offer, but I think I'll be all right. Nearly a year constantly traveling has made me a master at packing quickly, when necessary."

She nodded her understanding. "Then I won't keep you any longer. Good luck."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Blight is over, and the coronation is fast approaching. As Arais fulfills a promise she made to a family whom the Maker had graciously brought into her life, she finds herself faced with so much change, and many of those changes she must make herself. My entry for the Dragon Age Big Bang on tumblr and Live Journal.

**_10 Haring, 9:31 Dragon_ **

The trip to the tower had been tense, and in the ten hours it took to cross Lake Calenhad from Redcliffe, neither Eamon nor Isolde had left their cabins. Both insisted that it was because of the cold, but Arais knew better. Perhaps it would be considered childish to avoid him, but she could hardly blame Isolde for wanting to keep her distance from Eamon.

His attitude when they had arrived in Redcliffe had been nothing short of rude, and there had been more than one passive aggressive assumption that Isolde would not have told him the news, had it not been for his brother. Teagan had steadfastly defended his sister-in-law, and it was likely Eamon was not only avoiding Isolde, but his brother as well. No doubt, he understood where Teagan's allegiances would lay, were he forced to choose.

She only hoped it wouldn't affect Connor, and he wouldn't be used as a weapon against either of his parents.

Isolde and Eamon had agreed to see him separately, so she stood in the entrance hall with Isolde and Teagan, and waited for Eamon to return. He had insisted he be the first to see Connor, and Arais could only imagine what he might have been planning, and none of it was good. Still, Isolde had relented, more than likely unwilling to argue with him.

After quite some time had passed, Eamon practically sauntered into the entrance hall with the templar escort he had been assigned, and Arais didn't like the expression on his face one bit. He seemed satisfied, as if he had accomplished a great deal in the half an hour he spent with his son.

Maker, what had he said to Connor?

"How is he?" Isolde asked, and her voice shook with barely concealed desperation.

"Connor is quite all right." There was a look in his eyes that could only be described as smug. "I think I will return to the boat, and wait until you all have had your chance to see him." Eamon didn't wait for any reply before he left, that self-satisfied grin still planted firmly on his lips.

Arais' stomach churned. The templar motioned for Isolde to follow, and the arlessa turned to Teagan. "Will you come with me? Surely we don't need to all see him separately."

"Of course," Teagan replied, and looked to Arais. "Will you be all right by yourself?"

"Yes, I'll be fine. I wanted to speak with Wynne, while I'm here, to check up on something she mentioned at the coronation." She took his hand. "Go. I'm certain Connor is excited to see the both of you."

Isolde and Teagan followed the templar out of the entrance hall, and Arais waited a moment before she made her way to the library. There she found Wynne, seated at a table as she oversaw the training of a small group of apprentices. She looked tired, more tired than Arais had ever seen her, and she wondered if the spirit keeping her alive was weakening.

"Wynne?"

The elder mage turned, and a smile spread across her face. "Arais, it is good to see you. I take it you are here with the Guerrins?"

"I am." She sat beside Wynne. "Teagan and Isolde are with Connor, now." She fumbled for words. "What happened with the Grand Cleric?"

Wynne tensed, and glanced around the room. She stood and called for one of the other mages to watch over her apprentices, and led Arais into the room just outside the library.

"I apologize; I didn't wish to be overheard by prying ears." She sat on a bench that rested along the wall. "The Grand Cleric has decided transferring Cullen is in the best interest of the Chantry; he will be sent to Kirkwall within the month, though Elemena was hardly specific. Greagoir, Irving, and I all agreed it would be in the best interest of the  _mages_ , however, I'm concerned with the delay."

"The Grand Cleric didn't seem overly concerned with policing her templars behavior," Arais said, and sat beside Wynne. When the older women glanced up at her, eyebrow raised, Arais fished through her pack to find the letter Elemena had sent her, and handed it to Wynne. "I received this letter the morning after the coronation. There's no doubt Elemena is unhappy with my choice of boon, but as it is, she's allowing some concession so she can ignore the rest, for now."

Wynne perused the letter, and passed it back to Arais when she was finished. "I'm hardly surprised. Elemena has never been a friend to the mages, and she has ignored more than one complaint from the common folk when her templars have been heavy handed. Or so the rumors have said; I can't personally attest to the truthfulness of those claims. Though they certainly seem more valid, if she's willing to allow the templars to go on as they are."

"I'm surprised she's not worried about political blowback from the nobles if Connor were to be harmed any worse than he already has been."

"It is likely she thinks removing Cullen from Kinloch Hold will pacify those who don't know any better." Wynne sighed. "Most of the templars serving here now are new, however, and are less likely to act as Cullen did. The others who were here during the coup have fared better than Cullen, mentally. Cullen's transfer may dissuade any cruel behavior, in the future. Perhaps it will set an example that such things are no longer going to be tolerated."

"We can only hope." Arais noted the dark circles under Wynne's eyes, and changed the course of conversation. "You seem tired, Wynne? Has your condition worsened?"

"I am no worse for wear than I was during the Blight. Though I'm beginning to wonder if I should have returned to the Circle." She looked past Arais, toward the hall that held the apprentice quarters. "It seems as though your companions have finished with their visit."

Arais turned and saw Teagan standing in the doorway, a templar not far behind. "Is everything all right?" she asked, her brows furrowed.

"Yes, of course," Teagan said. "Connor is asking for you."

A hand rested on her shoulder, and she turned to Wynne, who smiled at her. "I should return to the apprentices. It was good to see you again so soon, Arais."

"And you, Wynne." The two women hugged, and Arais watched as Wynne returned to library, her shoulders more relaxed, though it was clear she carried a heavy burden. When she turned back to Teagan, she offered him a small smile. "How is Connor?"

He motioned toward the door, and they walked, the templar falling into step behind them. "He is well. He mentioned a few friends he has made, but mostly he just wanted to hear about the coronation, and how everyone has been since he left."

"How is he handling his parents' situation?" she asked.

"As well as can be expected, given the circumstances." He stopped in front of the entrance to the dormitories. "He didn't dwell on it. I suppose he is just happy to see his parents, together or not, so it doesn't surprise me."

"That does make sense. If I had been able to see my parents, it's likely I wouldn't have talked about their divorce, either. I would have just been relieved to see them at all." She saw Connor sitting alone when she glanced into the room. "Did Isolde return to the boat?"

"She did. She would have stayed longer, if she could, but she grew weary. Connor insisted she rest." He frowned. "He has become very observant."

"The curse of spending so much time in the same place," she said, with a half-hearted smile. "The first thing we learn as mages is to focus, and that can bleed into other aspects of our lives. We become better at reading people, some more so than others."

She looked back to Connor. "I should go in. Are you coming?"

"He was rather insistent that he speak to you alone." He kissed her cheek. "I will wait out here."

"I—okay." She walked into the room, ignoring her confusion, and sat beside Connor on the bed. "Hello, Connor."

"Hi." His voice was barely above a whisper.

"Your uncle said you wanted to talk to me?" He nodded, but said nothing. "Is something wrong?"

"I . . ." he started, but trailed off. His eyes met hers, and there were unshed tears welling there. "I think so. Mother tells me everything is okay, but . . . I didn't like how Father acted, when he visited." He looked away, his cheeks slightly pink. "He tried to tell me that he and Mother not being together anymore was her fault, that she did bad things." His arms crossed over his chest, and he seemed to hug himself. "I know what my mother did. She was trying to help me. It wasn't her fault that Jowan was a bad man and tried to hurt Father."

"Oh, Connor." She put her arm around him, and held him close. His shoulders shook slightly, and she could feel the anger bubbling in her chest. Maker curse Eamon. What could have possessed him to try and pit his son against the boy's mother? "I'm not sure why your father would say such things." She fumbled for words, her thoughts a jumbled mess in the haze of her outrage. She had to force her voice to remain even, lest she betray her true feelings. "He was sick for a long time, and sometimes that can change people. I do know he still loves you very much. Both of your parents do. They were so worried when you were taken away."

"I know," he said, his voice shaky. He wiped his face with the back of his hand. "I just want Mother to be okay. She was so sad, and I could tell she was worried Father might have said something. I felt bad lying to her, but I didn't want her to think Father hates her." She was quiet, unsure what to say. "Do you think she will be okay?" he asked, and gazed up at her, hopeful.

"I do." She smiled. "She has a lot of friends who are going to be there for her. Your uncle, and the queen."

"And you?"

"Yes. And me."

"Good." He hugged her, and rested his cheek against her shoulder for a few moments. Then, he stood, and glanced toward the other side of the room, and a smile spread across his face. Arais turned and saw the young Antivan girl who had sat with him that first day in the doorway.

"Connor, are you going to miss  _all_  of your lessons today?" Vitalia asked with a smirk, and began to walk over. She froze mid stride when she noticed Arais, and stood still, her eyes wide. "I . . . I remember you. You are the Warden who helped Wynne stop Uldred."

"I am." Arais smiled. "If I remember correctly, you asked to help."

"Petra kept telling me I was too young." Vitalia walked over, and stood beside Connor. Arais noticed that Vitalia was shorter than Connor, though now she could tell the girl was definitely older. "But I knew some spells I taught myself. I could have helped, and they wouldn't let me."

"You were only thirteen, Tali," Connor said.

Vitalia waved her hand, as if his words were a bug that had flown too close. "What does that matter? I still could have done something!"

"I'm sure they were just trying to keep you safe," Arais said, and pursed her lips to contain a grin.

The elven girl let out a disgruntled sigh. "You sound like Connor."

"Hey!" Connor said, and nudged her with his shoulder. Arais' resolve broke, and she smiled. This was a side of Connor she hadn't ever seen, and it was heartwarming to know he had made such a close friend in such a small amount of time. "Is it so bad that they didn't want you to get hurt?"

"Hmph." Vitalia folded her arms across her chest. "Senior Enchanter Marianni wants to know if you will be coming to your lessons later, or if you would rather rest."

"I'm not tired; I can go." He turned to Arais. "Are you going to come next time?"

"Of course."

He smiled and hugged her. "Thank you, Arais. I know you didn't have to come, but . . . I'm glad you did. I missed you."

"It's true," Vitalia said, and that smirk pulled at her lips again, her dark eyes glittering with mischief. "He spoke of little else besides you since I met him."

His cheeks turned pink, and he turned on her. "Quiet, Tali."

"What?" She held up her hands. "It's the truth."

"It's okay, Connor." Arais put a hand on his shoulder. "I missed you, too. I'm happy I was able to see you."

The smile returned to his face. "I should go. There isn't much time left for lessons today before dinner."

"Go. I'll see you in a few weeks."

He moved towards the door, Vitalia close behind. Arais heard him whisper, "Sometimes I wonder why we're friends," to the girl, and Vitalia giggled.

Arais shook her head, and was reminded of herself and Anders, and even Jowan, before he had . . . changed. Jowan had teased her just as Vitalia teased Connor, about boys, about her magic. Everything had changed when she had been taken for her Harrowing. She only hoped the same fate didn't befall Connor and Vitalia.

They deserved to have some happiness inside the hold's towering walls.

* * *

The boat rocked gently on the water, and Arais leaned against the railing, allowing the brisk winter wind to sting her cheeks. Her hands rubbed her arms beneath her cloak, though she found she didn't mind the cold as much as she used to. She spread her fingers out on the railing, and looked over the edge. Lake Calenhad looked dark and sinister where the moonlight failed to set it alight with its eerie luminescence. She heard footsteps, but didn't turn around.

"Would it be all right if I joined you?" Teagan asked, stepping up beside her.

A small smile played on her lips when her eyes met his. "Of course."

"I checked your cabin first, and found it empty." He took her hand in his, and rested them atop the railing. "You couldn't sleep either, I take it?"

"Not the slightest bit."

His eyes filled with concern. "Is there something troubling you, that you can't sleep?"

"Nothing in particular." She frowned, and cringed. Why not be truthful? There was no point in keeping it from him. "No, that's a lie." She took a deep breath. "Do you remember the templar I mentioned? The one who hurt Connor?"

"Cullen?"

"Yes, him. Wynne told me he is being transferred within the month, but Elemena wouldn't be more specific than that." Her brows furrowed together, and she looked across the water, to where Redcliffe Castle was beginning to come into view. "I wonder if she grasps just how dangerous he might be. I think Elemena knows he is a threat to the mages, but she's using this to send a message to me. That she won't tolerate criticism of the templars and their training, as it is overseen by the Chantry."

"Would she truly be so careless out of spite?"

"From what Wynne has said of Elemena, the woman has never been kind to mages. It's likely she doesn't care if a few mages get hurt, so long as she can say she resisted my request."

"I would never have expected the Grand Cleric to be so vindictive."

"Nor would I." Arais sighed. "If something happens to Connor, or any of the other mages, because of something Cullen does, I will see to it personally that she be removed from her position."

Teagan's hand came up to cup her cheek, gently urging her to face him. "I have no doubt you will." His eyes were warm as he looked into hers, and his lips pulled into a soft smile. "You really have come to care for Connor, haven't you?"

"I have." She glanced away. "I told you once that releasing him from the demon created a bond between us, and that was why I helped to escort him to the Circle. I've no doubt that has affected how I am with him, but . . . I don't think that is entirely why I feel so connected to him. I—Being in the Fade with him, I got to know him far better than I may have otherwise. I felt his concern for his father, for his family, as if those feelings were my own. And even afterward, it was overwhelming just how much I understood how he felt.

"When I was taken away, I thought I would never see my family again. And then my siblings were taken to separate Circles, my father left, and my mother . . . passed away. It is very likely I will never see my brother and sister again, and I didn't want Connor to go through that. Especially when he would have grown up knowing his family was such a short boat ride away."

"Arais, I . . . I can hardly express just how much all you've done for my nephew means to me." His hand tightened on hers. "I confess, I overheard some of what he said, about Eamon and Isolde, and the way you handled it . . . I don't think even I would have been able to defend my brother after hearing what he said."

"I didn't do it for Eamon." She drew a deep breath, a meager attempt to temper her anger. "Maker forgive me, I wanted nothing more than to find Eamon and tell him exactly what I thought of his actions. But if what I experienced being in Connor's mind, seeing his thoughts, proved anything, it was that he loved his father, and I don't think anything could hurt him more than thinking all Eamon cared about was having the upper hand."

"No doubt you're right."

His arm snaked around her shoulder, and he pulled her close until she rested her cheek against his chest. "Teagan, I . . . I'm sorry if anything I've said is out of line. I just don't want Connor to have to worry about anything outside of his life in the Circle. He has enough to contend with."

"Your concern for Connor is just as valid as Isolde's or mine. And I don't deny that my brother's behavior is problematic, and needs to be dealt with before he can be trusted with Connor again. I fully intend to discuss that with him as soon as we return to Redcliffe.

"But that isn't why I came to you tonight." And here, he paused, and pushed her away to hold her at arms' length. His eyes were impossible to read, shadowed as they were by the night. "Arais, whether you realize it or not, you have become an integral part of my family. That Connor has chosen you as a confidant is proof of that. He was always shy, and if he had concerns, I was the one he came to." His hands moved up; he held her face so tenderly, her heart ached. "But now he comes to you.

"I don't know what will happen with my brother, or Isolde, or after I become the arl of Redcliffe. One thing I do know, however, is how I feel right now, in this moment." He rested his forehead against hers. "I love you. More than I have ever loved anyone. You've given me so much, and asked for nothing in return. So, if you will have me, I offer myself."

"Teagan, I . . ." She shook her head, and even as she realized what he was saying, she asked, "What are you asking?"

He tilted her head up, and she saw the love he professed, even through the darkness, and her vision swam with moisture. "Marry me, Arais."

She choked on a sob, and tears trailed free and quick down her cheeks. A smile radiated across her lips, and she leaned up and caught his in a soft, yet urgent kiss. She grasped his face in her hands, and she nodded. "Yes," she whispered against his lips. His arms wrapped around her waist, and he held her so tightly, Arais felt herself nearly lifted off the deck of the ship. She laughed, her giddiness overflowing, and the sound rang out across Lake Calenhad.

Still, anxiety threatened to rise in her chest, her mind telling her that this may not be possible, that she was the Commander of the Grey and her duty would always be to the Wardens first, but she attempted to push those thoughts away. Maker damn the Wardens and their politics, she deserved this— _both_ of them deserved this—and she wouldn't deny herself happiness any longer.

But could she truly shirk her duties, even for a little while? Her arms tightened around Teagan's neck when she remembered the Wardens who would be arriving in Amaranthine. Maker only knew how much time she would need to spend with them, rebuilding the order in Ferelden. And there was no guarantee she would be able to handle the responsibilities that came with being an arlessa.

Her feet now firmly back on the deck of the boat, she stepped back and looked up at Teagan. His smile was warm even as he noticed that hers had faltered, and took her hand in his. "Is something the matter?"

She hesitated before she nodded, slowly. "The Chamberlain at Weisshaupt sent word before the coronation that more Wardens would be arriving in Ferelden, pending Anora's permission to cross the border from Orlais. I assume I'll be needed in Amaranthine until they've settled, and I have no idea how long that will take." She looked down at the wooden planks beneath her feet. "I probably won't have time for much else."

"Arais, you needn't worry. I will wait as long as I must; no amount of time is too much."

"But what will this mean for Amaranthine?" Arais knew little about politics, but it hardly seemed possible for her to be arlessa to both Amaranthine and Redcliffe. "If I marry you, who will take over for me as arlessa?"

"Anora will appoint someone, if you don't find a suitable successor yourself. Again, there is time to work all of this out." As he stared at their joined hands, his brow furrowed as if he was in deep thought. He released her hand and slipped the signet ring from his little finger, and when he slid it onto her ring finger, he looked her in the eye. "Whatever troubles you, I will do my best to face it with you. Know you will never be alone, so long as you have me."

Her lips turned up in a small smile. She reached up to kiss him, and her arms snaked around his neck. He was right, she knew. It seemed no matter how often she doubted herself, or whether something would work out in her favor, Teagan was there to remind her that there was always hope. Perhaps one day she would no longer need him to, and as she absently twirled the ring on her finger, she realized that it might be the only reminder she would need. He was her second chance for love, and for happiness.

Who knew what her life with him would offer in the future?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, a huge, huge thank you to HereBeDragons. She betaed the crap out of this and made it wonderful. Another thank you to JordanAlix for putting up with my rambling while I wrote this back in February/March and all the times I've talked his ear off since while editing it, and for looking it over every once in a while. And of course a huge shout out to the artist who claimed my story, Mena. You're a star and I can't wait to show off your artwork to anyone and everyone.


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